


Kinktober 2019 - The Hannigram et al Collection

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Against a Wall, Begging, Bondage, Boot Worship, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Crying, Crying Kink, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Edge Play, Edging, Exhibitionism, Face Sitting, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Forniphilia, Frottage, Gags, Hair Pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Sex, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Kinktober 2019, Knife Play, Laughter, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Omorashi, Oral, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Punishment, Rimming, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Seduction, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Shibari, Shotgunning, Slapping, Sleepy Sex, Smoking, Sounding, Spanking, Stockings, Supernatural Elements, Suspension Bondage, Swearing, Temperature Play, Tentacles, Tickling, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Whipping, corsets, intercrural, linerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: A collection of kinky lovely things for the month of October! Kinks listed as chapter titles, along with the pairing involved. Enjoy!





	1. Masks, Deepthroat (Will/OMC) - Aptus Verse

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) by [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite). 

> Kintober, y'all, let's see if I can do all 31!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Flatten your tongue,” the man added, dropping a hand for Will to set his chin to obediently, before pressing his fingers to the sides of Will’s jaw to open it wide. “Breathe through your nose. And _take it_.”_
> 
> Will Graham and OMC from the [Aptus verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) (you don't have to have read that fic to enjoy this one)

Will choked, he couldn’t help it. He’d asked for this, he had, aching for nights on end without relief and this the only way he could get it at Hellfire - now that men were forbidden from marking him and hurting him.

He wanted to be marked. He wanted to be hurt. 

He wanted to come and sleep properly for the first time in _days_ and it was killing him.

With a whimper he tried again, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe through his nose as he took the man deeper, and deeper, and -

“Relax your throat,” came the command quietly, and Will looked up. He didn’t know who the man was, he quite frankly didn’t care. He’d watched Will dance, he had summoned him for wine, had stroked Will’s cock as he’d sat obediently in his lap before taking him around the corner for this.

His mask showed nothing but his eyes, blue and bright like Will’s own, but narrowed in a kind of mischief one didn’t often see at the club. Cruelty, cunning, curiosity, but not mischief.

“Flatten your tongue,” the man added, dropping a hand for Will to set his chin to obediently, before pressing his fingers to the sides of Will’s jaw to open it wide. “Breathe through your nose. And _take it_.”

Will whimpered, eyes closing, brows drawing, his cock leaking beads of precome between his legs that caught on the silk around his waist. When he opened his eyes again the man tilted his head, and without a word Will obeyed.

He sucked, deliberately tonguing the head, stroking over the thick vein that ran the length of the man’s cock with the flat of his tongue before pressing it down against his bottom teeth. He drew a breath, swallowed, and leaned closer.

Fingers caught in his hair, tight, and guided him. Will knew that should he want to pull away he wouldn’t have the chance, and that challenge, that panic, had him drawing sharper breaths and taking more and more of the cock that was fed to him.

Between his legs, he ached.

He was nothing more, here, than a thing to be used, a device to masturbate with, a receptacle for come. The thought alone drew a moan, forced Will’s throat tight around the head of the man’s cock and he choked again. But this time he wasn’t released to breathe, his hair was gripped tight and tears burned his eyes and he swallowed until the feeling of drowning went away.

“God, look at you,” the man breathed, drawing Will’s eyes up, tearful and wide. He made a sound, something that worked past the cock in his mouth and the fingers in his hair relaxed. Will forced himself to take his time pulling away, watching the man as the other watched his cock slip free of Will’s mouth, spit thick over the head, dripping to the floor between them.

“Look up,”

Will did, lips parted as he panted for breath, eyes barely open and a hand between his own legs as the man before him stroked himself to completion. The heat of his release struck Will’s face like a brand, and Will took all of it, allowed that to be his mark, allowed this to be his agony. He came in his own hand before the man was through, and when he looked up again it was through sticky lashes.

“A mask of your own,” the man told him, leaning just close enough to smear his fingers through the mess on Will’s face. “Wear it proudly.”


	2. Ass Worship, Begging (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Matt just shook his head, watching Anthony shift about a moment more before dramatically falling down beside him on the bed._
> 
> _“And so,” Anthony added, tone resigned, martyred, “I shall remain hard and aching til the morning comes and I come with it.”_
> 
> _“You won’t last that long.”_
> 
> _“Won’t I?”_
> 
> Anthony and Matty from [Escapist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349301) verse (but it's vague enough that you don't need to know that story to enjoy this one)

Anthony had worked his boy to exhaustion, staving off his own pleasure to bring Matty over twice in close succession. He lay, now, trembling and flushed and so lovely, reaching out for the cigarette Anthony handed him with a smile.

“God_damn_.”

“You’re Catholic,” Anthony muttered, slapping Matthew’s thigh. “Isn’t that a mortal sin or something?”

“So’s getting fucked up the ass by you,” the other countered with a grin. “If I’m already headed down, I’m going to arrive infamous.”

Anthony hummed, pleased, and took the cigarette back, smoking it to the filter before tossing it to the ashtray and stretching his arms over his head. Matt watched him through eyes narrowed in sleepy repose, over Anthony’s familiar and lovely form, down to his cock that still sat semi-hard against his hip.

“You wanna do something about that?” Matt asked him. Anthony snorted.

“Absolutely, but you’ll hardly be of help.” he offered a wicked smile. “Unless you want me to fuck you _again_.”

“Nooo,” Matthew laughed, turning into the pillows with a groan. “No thank you, I am quite fucked out.”

“Verily.”

Matt just shook his head, watching Anthony shift about a moment more before dramatically falling down beside him on the bed.

“And so,” Anthony added, tone resigned, martyred, “I shall remain hard and aching til the morning comes and I come with it.”

“You won’t last that long.”

“Won’t I?”

“My ass is done but my mouth isn’t useless, get over here.”

“No,” Anthony buried his face in the pillows and wrapped his arms up over his head. “I shall not move again, I have done the lion’s share of the work in this bed this evening.”

“You limey prick,” Matt forced himself to sit up, wincing as his body stretched and pulled in all the right places. He regarded Anthony beside him, watched his shoulders rise and fall with slow deliberate breaths. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he really soon would be. Both of them would be.

He crawled the necessary distance and placed a hot kiss against Anthony’s tailbone. The other hummed but didn’t otherwise respond. With a grin, Matt kissed there again, then down lower, over the left cheek, then the right, lower still to the dip of Anthony’s thighs, until the other obliged - with a put-upon sigh - to spread his legs.

Eating Anthony out was a goddamn spectacle. The sounds he made were utter filth, absolutely shameless, loud, needy. Matty couldn’t get enough of them. They switched often enough in bed for both to get a decent fucking but it was rare Matt had Anthony so damn sleepy and lazy to enjoy and take his time with.

So he took his time now, spreading Anthony’s cheeks and licking hungrily between. Kitten licks and long drags of a rough tongue, circling his hole and sucking against it. Over and over, slow and deliberate, until Anthony was arching back toward him, rubbing down against the sheets until Matt slapped his skin playfully and yanked Anthony’s hips up closer, bringing him up to his knees.

“Come on,” Anthony groaned, nuzzling the pillows like a cat, legs wide now, for Matt to thoroughly enjoy him.

“Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

“Did. Twice.”

Anthony snorted, brought a hand up to tug his hair out of his eyes and turned to look over his shoulder at the man between his legs. God he loved him. He was an old sap with nothing better to do and for some daft reason this kid wanted to be here. Still. After everything.

“Please,” he purred, rocking his ass back and moaning when Matt obliged, spearing his tongue to penetrate him, thumbs holding him open. Anthony allowed his voice loose, gave Matt the whimpers and whines he so adored, brought a hand between his legs to stroke himself as Matt continued to devour him and relish it.

“_Please_,” he groaned, thighs trembling, slick with spit that dripped down from Matthew’s sloppy and divine work. “_God_ you’re a fucking tease.”

“And you’re a slut,” Matt laughed against him.

“I _am_,” Anthony whined, biting down on the pillow as Matt continued to tease him, continued to give him just enough to feel good but not enough to come. Absolute fucking menace of a human being.

“Matthew,” A spank in response. “_Fuck_.”

A moment more, perhaps two, and Matt dragged his thumb behind Anthony’s balls, pressing up just there just enough to get him over, and Anthony was damn near sobbing into the sheets with his release.

“Goddamn,” Anthony muttered, sagging back to the bed again, laughing low when Matt spanked him again.

“Blasphemy,” he chided, reaching to turn out the light before draping himself over Anthony’s back. “It’ll take you right to hell with me.”

“Good.”


	3. Sensory Deprivation, Temperature Play, Edging, Knifeplay (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you trust me?” Will asked him, voice breathy, low. And Hannibal didn’t even flinch, didn’t even think about it, didn’t even hesitate._
> 
> _“Yes.” He whispered back. “I trust you, Will.”_

Hannibal curled his hands in the chains that held his cuffs attached firmly to the headboard. Will had tied his eyes, had drawn goosebumps against his skin with soft kisses and cool breaths that followed. He’d taken Hannibal in his mouth and worked him up, teasing back the foreskin to tongue the slit of his cock, enough that Hannibal had shifted his hips, had made a low noise of pleasure, aching for more.

Will had merely tied another length of fabric around his balls and cock, keeping him hard, not touching him there again.

Instead, Will had drawn nails sharp down Hannibal’s thighs, had sucked bruises to his collarbone and left bite marks above Hannibal’s navel. He’d whispered filthy things, rubbed his body warm and clothed against Hannibal’s as he lay prone and couldn’t touch him back. And then he’d stepped away, coyly asking Hannibal to wait, just there, and not move for him.

“You told me once, that you wanted to eat my heart,” Will murmured, Hannibal’s head turning to the sound, unsure how long he’d been waiting for him. He licked his lips.

“I did.”

“It got me thinking,” Will continued, walking closer to the bed and climbing into it again, sitting just out Hannibal’s reach - he could feel where Will’s weight settled but they weren’t touching. “That I might like to do the same.”

“You told me you imagined killing me with your hands,” Hannibal reminded him, and he could feel the smile on Will’s face with his reply.

“I did. But I’m not killing you now.”

Hannibal wanted to say more, to ask more, but his breath caught on the tip of his tongue as he felt the blade against his skin.

It was sharp. Heavy. He was certain it was one of his Japanese knives, the ones he kept in their own drawer, in protective cases over the blades. He knew Will had seen them, had used them before when they worked in the kitchen together. Will drew it slowly down the center of Hannibal’s chest, from the dip in his collarbone towards his navel.

“Will -”

“Stay still,”

And then Hannibal felt it. The slick drip that followed the blade’s edge down his body. His breath hitched. His heart hammered so loudly it deafened him, and for a moment, for just a moment, he was frightened.

“Will -”

“Shh,” Will breathed, leaning in to draw his tongue hot over Hannibal’s skin chasing a stray drop. “I’ve got you. Safe and sound.”

_Safe and sound._

Will leaned back to look, the knife he’d kept in the freezer in his hands - the cold giving it the illusion of sharpness and weight. An ice cube melted slowly pressed against Will’s wrist, adding to the illusion of pain and injury as the blunt blade drew lower.

“Do you trust me?” Will asked him, voice breathy, low. And Hannibal didn’t even flinch, didn’t even think about it, didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.” He whispered back. “I trust you, Will.”


	4. Spanking, Mirror Sex, Crying Kink (Will/OMC) - Aptus verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will had sold his soul for a pound. Sold his choices and his obedience, his ability to say no. He’d sold it to a man who had touched his hair softly and stroked his lips when he’d bought Will on the streets._
> 
> _And now he’d brought him here._
> 
> There was a sentence in [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) that mentioned Will's first time visiting the club... this is part of that particular experience.

Will had sold his soul for a pound. Sold his choices and his obedience, his ability to say no. He’d sold it to a man who had touched his hair softly and stroked his lips when he’d bought Will on the streets.

And now he’d brought him here.

The room was so lavishly furnished Will wondered if he’d stepped through time. Heavy curtains and gilded frames, mirrors and mirrors and mirrors reflecting back the bed with its shackles, and the things that hung on the walls, and Will, bent harsh over a bench as the man punished him for no reason at all.

The mirror before him reflected his own face, flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. It reflected another behind him that gave Will a clear view of the marks the man was leaving on him with his riding crop; sharp red things like claw-marks that crossed over each other and painted his bottom and thighs in pain.

The man caught his eye, narrowed his own, and the next lash felt like fire against Will’s tender skin and he sobbed.

“Why?”

“Because it pleases me.”

“But I’ve obeyed!”

“And you will continue to.”

The blows rained down faster, and Will tucked his face against his arm to avoid his own tearful reflection. He was crying in earnest, shaking, skin raw and hot and innocent. The man flogged him until Will’s whimpers pulled high and he could barely draw a breath between his tears and when the punishment stopped another immediately took its place.

Something heavier, thicker, wider, the blows not stinging like the crop but all-encompassing, pushing Will up onto his toes in a futile attempt to escape.

“Sir, please, it hurts!”

“I want it to,” came the rough reply. “I want you to hurt for me. I want you to cry and beg and plead for me, and I will hit you all the harder for it.”

And Will knew, in that moment, that the man was getting off on this. Inflicting this pain on Will was hardening his cock, listening to Will’s sobs was drawing the foreskin back just enough for the head to peek through, and he wanted nothing more than to clamp shut his mouth and not make another sound, not give the man the satisfaction.

But he hadn’t the strength or willpower. He hadn’t the constitution. 

And as the man continued to spank him, paddle heavy in his hand, Will gave himself over to the humiliation of it all, to the inevitability of his pain being a catalyst for orgasm. He gave himself over to the cruelties, because he could do nothing else.

But it was too much - too much - and Will pressed the back of his good foot up against his prosthetic and something about the gesture, something about that shift, made the man stop.

“Spread your legs,” he breathed, voice rougher now, lower than before. “Spread your legs, boywhore.”

So Will did, obedient in that as well.

He cried out when he felt the man’s thighs press to his bruised and broken bottom, when he felt the man’s thick cock bluntly shove against his hole seeking entry. A hand caught in Will’s curls and forced his face up, up to see the mirror, up to see himself reflected back: tormented, exhausted, broken.

And that was something he had never allowed himself to be.

That was something he had sworn never to become.

And so Will met the eyes of his reflection and forced himself to silence as the man fucked him, shoving hard and rough into him, bruising already bruised flesh. Over and over, harder and harder, until he came with a grunt and a curse and stepped away, leaving Will shaking and filthy.

Will kept his head up even when the man let him go. He looked himself over, his face undamaged but his lip bitten so hard to quiet himself it beld. He looked over his shoulder, at the damage wrought upon him, saw where he had been whipped so hard it had broken skin, saw where the man’s come slipped thick down his thighs.

He counted his cuts. Recalled the number of times he had been sworn at, spat on, tugged, and commanded. He let the tally grow.

That would be the number of holes he would leave in the man with a knife one day, he decided, thanking him for a most valuable lesson.

When the man returned not long after, smelling of wine and worked up once more to hurt Will, Will made not a sound for him. He just added to the tally, and promised his reflection an avenging.


	5. Shotgunning (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Matt smiled wider, setting the filter between his lips again. This time, when he pulled it away, he held his breath until he tilted Anthony’s chin up, held him close enough to kiss._
> 
> Shotgunning some sweet druggy goodness between two idiots in love.

It was lazy, that coil of limbs, the filling and falling of naked chests, the shifting mirage of gaslight and flickering flames.

Anthony let his fingers walk a slow pace up the center of Matt’s chest, dissolving to tickling touches as he traced the tattoo on his peck. In answer, Matt closed his eyes and attempted, poorly, to blow a smoke ring.

“You gonna share?”

“Nope.”

“Ass.”

Matthew grinned and took another deliberate and slow drag. The smoke was sweet, spicy, something that left an aftertaste humming on his tongue that he couldn’t place. He didn’t care what it was. If Anthony sourced it, it was safe. If Anthony enjoyed it, it was worth Matty’s time.

He turned his head to his partner as he exhaled, watching Anthony close his eyes as smoke curled against his cheeks.

“You love me.”

“Lucky me.” Anthony mumbled, letting one eye open to look at Matthew again, expression easing to laxity as Matt grinned at him. “It suits you.”

“Being high?”

“Relaxing.”

Matt smiled wider, setting the filter between his lips again. This time, when he pulled it away, he held his breath until he tilted Anthony’s chin up, held him close enough to kiss.

Anthony’s lips parted to accept the smoke between them, eyes closing as he sighed Matt’s breath into himself. He hummed as Matthew kissed him after, shifting enough to drape a heavy arm over his partner as they lay together, foreheads touching, noses brushing, smoke thick in the room between them.

“You look pretty good when you’re high, too,” Anthony admitted after a moment, earning a snort from Matt.

“So do you.”

“Then share it.”

Matt shook his head, amused, tongue pressing up against his teeth as he regarded Anthony so close. He watched Anthony’s eyes track the movement of the cigarette to his lips and away again, opening his mouth when Matt did to accept another coil of smoke.

And that was the end of the argument, and the cigarette. Matt smoking it to the end, Anthony taking it from him to put out between his fingers. He wasn’t as high as Matt, having shotgunned, but it was enough to laze Anthony into dozing, smiling when he felt Matty tracing lazy fingers over Anthony’s hands and up his wrists.

Little touches, soft things, meaningless things that carried with them the weight of so many unspoken promises and arguments and histories. Things that mattered once and didn’t matter now gone like smoke between their lips.


	6. Daddy, Corsets, Cock Worship (Hannigram) - Aptus verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’ve been a very good boy, daddy,”_
> 
> _“Have you?”_
> 
> [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204)-verse but no spoilers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time for everything I suppose haha. I write daddy kink now? Maybe?

It was a rare game they played, but Hannibal did enjoy indulging his boy when he’d been good. And Will had been very good. So when the young man appeared at the door of his study a little before dinner, expression coy and eyes wide with wine, he gestured him in.

Will poured himself into the room, balance only precarious by pretense, his prosthetic making a quiet click against the parquet floor. Hannibal thought he was dressed for bed, if he hadn’t catch sight of the ribbon trailing behind Will, suggesting the corsetry of his shirt. Elegant and pretty thing, his Will was, wrapped in silk and lace.

Will’s cheeks were pink, rouged as his knees and elbows were; the picture of illicit youth and innocence. He brought a hand to his mouth as he grinned, taking his time to get to Hannibal before settling his frill-framed bottom to the arm of his chair.

“Hello, Will.”

Will grinned, tilting his cheek against his shoulder. He reached back with his free arm, balancing himself on the opposite arm of Hannibal’s chair, before letting himself slide into his lap.

“Hi,” he offered back, wriggling against Hannibal, tucking himself small against him. Hannibal could never resist him, he had been a slave to Will’s charm and looks since the Hellfire club, since he first saw him dance. He had noticed, in their time together, that once in a while this particular sinfulness bloomed behind Will’s eyes. It always ended in the most debauched of evenings for them both.

“You’re so dressed up,” Hannibal commented, catching the ribbon holding Will’s corset tight. “Is it a special night, Will?”

Will preened, arching back his neck and offering Hannibal a lovely view of his pale throat. Too-long unmarked by Hannibal’s teeth, tempting. He turned his head, whispering theatrically into Hannibal’s ear.

“I’ve been a very good boy, daddy,”

“Have you?”

Will nodded, eyes narrowed in pleasure, his feet kicking gently over the arm of the chair, his bare foot pointed. Hannibal let his hand settle over Will’s bare thigh, just where his bloomers frothed their lace edge.

“Good boys deserve rewards,” Hannibal murmured, smiling when Will’s grin grew even wider and he nodded again, deliberate, slow, childish. Hannibal’s tastes rarely ran so young, but watching Will, his Will, play at it was a very sweet pleasure. “What does daddy’s good boy want, Will?”

Will squirmed against him, a deliberate and practiced motion. “I want to suck daddy’s cock,” he purred back. “Swallow it all the way down.”

“Can you take it all?”

Will’s smile was wicked. “Yes, daddy.”

Hannibal squeezed softly against Will’s skin before taking his hands away. “How could I deny you?” He asked, amused, watching Will find his feet and stand up once more, immediately turning to bend over Hannibal’s chair the other way, nuzzling between his legs.

Hannibal didn’t help Will work open his pants. He hardly needed to, though Will made a believable go of having trouble on his own. When Will had him bared he moaned, a high and pleased sound, and squeezed his thighs together, right foot coming up innocently. 

He started with gentle kitten-licks, as though tasting Hannibal for the very first time. Sucking on the head, whimpering in pleasure as Hannibal grew harder between his lips. His entire body played the part of sweet debauched boy, and Hannibal relished it. He followed the tight lacing of the corset, folding wide hands over Will’s sides and to his stomach; possessive and protective at once.

Lower, then, to the silk that covered Will’s bottom and the tops of his thighs, teasing over the thin material with his nails, with warm fingers, as Will took Hannibal deeper and deeper into his mouth, moaning around him, drawing his tongue expertly over the thick vein. Will teased him, a messy affair that allowed Will to glance up once in a while, apologetically sucking dry his spit-slick bottom lip as he watched Hannibal watch him. He teased until his teasing became outright worship, and Will’s own cock became too distracting. He dropped a hand between his legs to stroke himself.

Hannibal’s hand came down sharp and loud against Will’s bottom, making the boy yelp.

“That’s not yours to touch,” he reminded Will, arching a brow when he looked up and pouted. Will could play this game like a master. Hannibal, however, was far from ignorant of the rules. “Get daddy nice and hard. Nice and wet. And maybe this naughty little dick,” Hannibal cupped Will deliberately, “will get to come today.”

Will grinned, nuzzled against Hannibal’s stomach, and touched just the tip of his tongue to Hannibal’s foreskin, watching, fascinated, as it responded to the touch.

“Yes, daddy,” he whispered, and when he ducked his head again, he took Hannibal to the back of his throat with a whine.


	7. Praise Kink (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You wanna be good for me, Matty?” he teased, grinning wider when Matthew forced a slow breath through his nose._
> 
> _“I swear to fuck, Dimmond, I will kill you.”_
> 
> Based on the boys in The Escapists but it's not vital you read that verse for this.

“If you want me to tell you you’re good, you have to be _good_,” Anthony pointed out, amused when Matthew narrowed his eyes at him. “That is quite literally the definition of the word, I didn’t make that up.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Not helping you on your pilgrimage to goodness,” Anthony pointed out, amused. Matthew huffed a sigh and settled on his hip on the bed, instead of balancing on all-fours like he had been before. “Why do you want this anyway?”

“I just -” Matt drew a deep breath, sighed it out. “Doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

“You like it.”

“Shut up.”

“Wait, you more than like it, you _get off_ on it.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“You absolutely fucking do,” Anthony grinned, sitting up, drawing his knee closer to rest his elbow against as Matt glowered at him. “You get off on being good for someone.”

“You met me,” Matt reminded him languidly, “when I was serving time in prison.”

“And I was serving life,” Anthony shrugged. “And here we both are, not in prison, and I fucking find out you get off on being told you’re a good boy.”

Matthew cursed and turned away, doing his absolute damnest to look upset or indifferent when his body was betraying him. His cheeks had warmed with a flush, Anthony could see the way his eyes had widened before he’d turned away so deliberately. It was delightful.

“You wanna be good for me, Matty?” he teased, grinning wider when Matthew forced a slow breath through his nose.

“I swear to fuck, Dimmond, I will kill you.”

“Will you?” Anthony quipped, pleased. “You are quite the master of destroying me with _la petite mort_, I will give you that. Very _good_ at it.”

“Shut up.” But Anthony could see that Matthew’s defenses were slipping, a smile was peeking through that put-upon stoicism and his blush was growing deeper. He was lovely, this rough American boy who could walk through walls. He’d entirely wormed his way into Anthony’s affections and he couldn’t even say he was upset about it.

“I think you should remind me how good you are at it,” Anthony continued, stretching his arms up over his head before letting them fall behind himself so he could recline. “My memory, at my age, you know it slips sometimes.”

Matt snorted, glancing sidelong at Anthony where he preened at the head of the bed.

“Maybe you’re not even as good at it as I recall,” Anthony sighed, casting his eyes to the ceiling with pursed lips, catching motion out the corner of his eye before Matthew was on him, pinning him with his entire body and pressing deep sloppy kisses to his lips.

“You’re a right bastard, you know that?”

“I know,” Anthony murmured, drawing up a knee to hold Matt balanced against him. “And you’re good,” he added, amused, “if you can prove yourself.”

“I’ll blow your goddamn mind,” Matt promised.

“Start with my cock and work your way up,” Anthony suggested, laughing when Matt pressed harder against him, and kissed any more smartassed comments from his lips.


	8. Fisting, Prostitution/Sex Work (Will/OMC) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’d found that with his face, men bought him usually for one of two reasons: to spoil him, worship him, fuck him and pretend he was theirs, or to hurt him and watch him cry. He supposed there was a face for every act, his just happened to span the spectrum of human vice._
> 
> This one is based in the [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) verse, but you don’t have to read the fic to understand it (this is pre-[Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204), technically)

When the weather grew colder, Will attached himself to a mollyhouse for the season. If nothing else, it offered shelter and guaranteed at least one paid fuck a night, though half his pay would immediately go to the house.

He’d found that with his face, men bought him usually for one of two reasons: to spoil him, worship him, fuck him and pretend he was theirs, or to hurt him and watch him cry. He supposed there was a face for every act, his just happened to span the spectrum of human vice.

It was almost Christmas, snow heavy on tree branches outside and the house filled beyond capacity by johns and their purchases. Beer was flowing freely, wine had to be diluted more than usual, and Will’s fingers were trembling with how desperately he wanted to eat something. He’d had two clients already, and would have just enough after a third for a mince pie from the cart down the way.

He accepted the man’s proposal only because he was hungry; with a clear head, Will would never have gone near him otherwise. The offer was simple: twice the price of a fuck for Will to allow the man to fit his whole hand up his ass.

In theory it wasn’t the worst thing he’d been asked to do.

But now, in the cramped little room alone with the man and his fetish, Will wasn’t so sure. He’d immediately gone to his knees, prepared to suck him off first - as most of his clients seemed to prefer - and had found himself directed to the bed instead.

“On your knees, baby,” the man said. He hadn’t asked Will to undress so he hadn’t, climbing onto the bed still in his stockings and underwear. He balanced himself, tried to force himself to relax as he heard the man shuck off his coat, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as he looked at Will bent over for him.

“Such a pretty thing,” he breathed, stepping near again and drawing Will’s underwear down to hang against his thighs. “Such a hungry little hole.”

Will swallowed. Closed his eyes. Thought of the money.

He could get a pie, he could get some mulled wine maybe. Something warm and filling and comforting after all of this.

He bit his lip as the man’s fingers teased against him, spread his legs a little wider - more for himself and his own comfort than to be particularly appealing - and ducked his head. He wouldn’t cry, he promised himself, the last thing he wanted to do was cry.

Two fingers.

Three.  
At least the man was considerate enough to have brought lubricant, the penetration wasn’t painful, but Will was already feeling the pressure of it. As a fourth finger was worked in he bit hard on his bottom lip and trembled as the man’s free hand stroked over the curve of his ass, up to his back, down again.

“So good for me, so pretty,” Will forced himself to relax, to not tense up, but he could feel the panic crawling up his throat now, choking him, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Sir, can we -”

“So close now.”

“Please, can we just -”

“Spread a little wider for me.”

Will sucked in a sob and obeyed, underwear cutting into the skin of his thighs as he did as he was told and the man’s hand turned slippery and slick within him.

His thumb, then. All five fingers of his hand, a deliberate corkscrew motion pressing his knuckles hard against Will’s exhausted muscle. It hurt, now. There was no denying it. It hurt and Will was shaking, fingers digging into the sheets like claws as slowly, inch by agonising inch, the man worked his fist into Will.

And then Will’s body swallowed him, and Will whimpered, slipping to his elbows with a gasp of pain. He had never felt so violated. He had never felt so full. It was excruciating and at the same time strangely arousing. He could feel the man’s entire hand, any motion he made, any time his fingers moved or his wrist turned and -

“Oh -!”

“There you go baby, just like that.”

“Ohhh,” A flutter of sound as Will saw stars. His prostate had never been touched so intimately, so harshly, the pressure almost impossible to withstand and it felt good… it suddenly felt overwhelmingly good.

“Just like that, sweet thing, take it,” the man groaned. “Take all of it, fuck.”

Will’s eyes rolled and he nuzzled another moan into the sheets. He was vaguely aware of another command to touch himself and drew a hand back to obey, finding himself surprisingly hard and aching already. It wouldn’t take long.

He stroked himself as the man turned his wrist again, cried out when it felt too much, too good, and tried to bite away any other sounds he made. Over and over knuckles grazed his prostate, over and over Will felt himself so close to the edge he nearly toppled. And then he was gone; falling, falling, falling in his pleasure, orgasm drawing him entirely boneless and weak, collapsing his exhausted form from his elbows to his chest.

The man’s fist slipped free of Will much easier than it went in, and Will curled in on himself on the bed, drawing up his knees, his hole trembling as it gaped. He couldn’t care less for what else the man wanted. He didn’t answer when he was addressed. He noted the coins and paper that fluttered around him, his payment for the torment he’d endured, before the door closed and the man was gone.

He didn’t move for a good long while. Not until another boy knocked demanding the bed. And only then did Will pull his bloomers back up with a wince, collect his well-earned pay, and stumble out the door.


	9. Bondage, Lingerie (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The rope matched Will’s lingerie on color and tone; Hannibal had specifically bought both for him. Petals and paisley coils curled over Will’s ass, pressed intimately to his balls and held his cock in start stunning relief for Hannibal to enjoy. He was exquisite in his vulnerability. Hannibal bent to press a hot kiss to the thick vein of Will’s cock, pulling away as the organ hardened and arched up._
> 
> Based in the [Rasasvada](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369231) ficverse, but you needn't have read it to understand this (but you should if you're after some lovely shibari and lingerie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m far from a rope bunny, but the time I got shibari’d with another person for a photoshoot was the best subspace high I have ever experienced in my entire life.
> 
> Inspired by the incredible works of [DaMottaFabio](https://www.instagram.com/damottafabio/) on instagram, I didn’t copy a specific set of his but these were the ones I found most inspiring for this particular piece:  
[[1]](https://www.instagram.com/p/BODuJBBgSfkF_ajgVK2eJaJnggGlqZG33F4dns0/) [[2]](https://www.instagram.com/p/BPREL1FgsgyUAO53_c0Me8i98P1m9j0GKVpHCY0/) [[3]](https://www.instagram.com/p/BULjuqEDDHMgUmSS9CjAVSwZylG7mrR9lKpkSo0/) [[4]](https://www.instagram.com/p/B2eY6RFAgDzBn8g3cBZUHu04WWnF_Ssrj7UG_o0/)

“Stay with me,”

Will smiled, eyes closing in pleasure. “I’m here with you.”

“Good,”

Hannibal turned the heavy rope in his hands and twisted another coil over Will’s arms, pulling it taut before checking the tightness with two fingers between it and Will’s skin.

He was beautiful. On his back on the bed, entirely bare but for the purple lace that covered his ass, elegantly held captive Will’s hardening cock. Hannibal had tied Will’s ankles to his thighs; intricate knots that cast a ladder up his legs to his knees which Will held spread. Those ropes, now, were what Hannibal bound Will’s hands with - wrist to wrist, elbow to elbow.

They had been at this for over an hour, shibari not being an artform to rush, and Hannibal had noticed that from the very first knot against Will’s skin, he was sinking into his head, a blissful escape from everything else and anyone else, except Hannibal.

The rope matched Will’s lingerie on color and tone; Hannibal had specifically bought both for him. Petals and paisley coils curled over Will’s ass, pressed intimately to his balls and held his cock in start stunning relief for Hannibal to enjoy. He was exquisite in his vulnerability. Hannibal bent to press a hot kiss to the thick vein of Will’s cock, pulling away as the organ hardened and arched up.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, winding the two ropes together in his hands to create a braid before splitting the ends once more to work knots next over Will’s belly. He carefully guided Will to lift his hips, tied no knots against his back to avoid causing him discomfort in this position, and took the time to instead create his masterpiece at Will’s navel.

He braided sailor’s knots and pressed them to Will’s skin, worked the ends of the ropes over the lace before tucking them under, relishing the sweet gasp the sensation drew from Will as Hannibal bent the strands together into something that pressed pleasurably up behind Will’s balls, against his prostate from the outside.

Out from under the lace again and threaded through the ladders on Will’s legs until the rope was finished and Will was a work of art before him; flushed in pleasure, panting from this alone. Hannibal drew his hands in reverence over Will’s form, stroking his skin where the ropes didn’t bind it, pressing fingertips beneath the hem of his panties to make Will shiver.

Hannibal carefully held himself over Will and kissed him, nosing against Will until the other sighed and opened his eyes.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said. Will’s smile widened.

“More of a surprise than this?”

“Yes.”

Will bit his lip, nodded, accepted another kiss from Hannibal and watched him as he quietly left the bedroom to go downstairs. Will lay in bed relaxed, feeling safe, so safe, in the bonds Hannibal had cast over him. He could sleep like this, he was certain, though Hannibal would never let him. The ropes would leave marks in Will’s skin for hours after, though, and he would relish every moment.

Hannibal returned with a sketchbook under his arm and a small bouquet of irises, and Will couldn’t help but laugh. Of course. Of course he would. Hannibal bloody Lecter.

Will groaned softly, arched his throat and licked his lips, and relaxed back to let Hannibal work. He set flowers into the ladders at his thighs, threaded them into a bouquet in Will’s clasped hands, coiled them tickling through the ropes holding Will’s cock pressed tight. One final bloom Hannibal clipped short and set behind Will’s ear, kissing him again.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I feel so safe,” Will whispered, blinking up at him, eyes wide and dark, dark blue.

That was all Hannibal needed to know. All he had been striving for. He kissed Will until the other sighed against him, and sat back to the side of him to open his sketchbook.


	10. Hair Pulling (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You like it when I pull your hair.”_
> 
> _Hannibal glanced up, allowing his eyes to take in Will’s pleased expression upside down above him. He licked his lips. “I like it when you pull my hair,” he agreed, groaning softly when Will did it again._

“You like it when I pull your hair.”

Hannibal glanced up, allowing his eyes to take in Will’s pleased expression upside down above him. He licked his lips. “I like it when you pull my hair,” he agreed, groaning softly when Will did it again.

Fingers covered in suds, Will worked them over Hannibal’s scalp as the other soaked in the tub. A deliberate and lovely massage that sent shivers of pleasure through Hannibal in the warm water. It was rare that Will joined him here, usually both of them contented to shower alone or together and not draw it out. But once in a while…

Will drew his nails over sensitive skin, curling his fingers to catch deliberately in the straight strands and tugging enough to arch Hannibal’s neck.

There was beauty in his vulnerability, something absolutely lovely about a predator allowing another so near his throat without complaint. Will couldn’t help it, he ducked his head to suck clinging drops from Hannibal’s skin, dragging his teeth over it in threat or promise after.

“Who would have thought,” he murmured, bringing both thumbs up against Hannibal’s temples to work shampoo into the roots there.

Hannibal swallowed. He kept his eyes closed, allowed Will his power here. He would do anything for the man. He had, already, so much more than he hoped Will would ever know. But allowing him to pull, to grasp, to hold Hannibal and control him… there was a comfort in submission.

Will guided him forward and placed a palm against Hannibal’s forehead to keep the soap from his eyes as he rinsed his hair. He took his time, watching the water flow through and over the silver-blonde strands until he was certain no soap remained. Then he pressed the excess water from Hannibal’s hair and allowed him to recline in the tub again.

He allowed Hannibal his time to enjoy the water, didn’t rush him to get out. But when he did, returning to the bedroom with the towel wrapped around his waist, Will met him with a kiss. Deep and deliberate, hands on either side of Hannibal’s face to hold him still and near, relishing the way he melted against Will’s onslaught without hesitation.

Then Will’s fingers slid upwards, through the damp strands and around them, coiling tight and tugging until Hannibal’s throat was prone for him for Will to tease his breath over Hannibal’s adam’s apple. He didn’t lick, or suck, or bite, not yet. The thought alone that he was allowed, that he was welcomed to do this was enough.

“I’m going to drag you to bed,” Will decided quietly, smiling when a pleased hum came in reply. “And I’m going to hold you down, and mark you up, and you’re going to let me.”

It wasn’t a question.

It didn’t get an answer.

But when Will yanked down hard, Hannibal went to his knees for him, eyes up and dark in pleasure, and when Will’s wrist turned to curl Hannibal closer, he went with a moan.


	11. Sounding, Object Insertion (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Be still, sweet boy,” Hannibal whispered, leaning closer to nuzzle against the insides of Will’s thighs. “It is for pleasure, not for pain.”_
> 
> _“Please -”_
> 
> _“Trust me.”_
> 
> This one is based in the [Aptus verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204), but you don’t have to read the fic to understand it (this is a thing that I would love to have in [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) but not sure I can canonically fit it in, so here it goes for now, and maybe it’ll pop up in the actual story later!

Will whimpered, fingers pressed tight over his thighs as he held them open for Hannibal. He’d made Will come, eating the boy out until he was sobbing with pleasure and shivering his release. And then he’d promised Will more. Something new. Something strange and wonderful and well worth his patience and courage.

First, it had been a toy. A plug, really.

Hannibal had shown it to Will before, he had shown him several as he’d turned them on the lathe; long, smooth and conical, tapering to bluntness on one end, with an ornamented handle on the other. They ranged in sizes, and this one never quite filled Will as Hannibal did, though the pressure against him when Will moved, when Hannibal pushed the plug in deep and praised Will for taking all of it… it was its own kind of wonder.

Hannibal drew his finger reverently over the plug’s elaborate base and tapped it, purring praise over Will’s skin as he trembled at the sensation.

“Relax for me, Will,”

Hannibal guided the boy’s hands away, allowing his thighs to spread naturally as Will sighed tension out of his muscles. Will stretched his right foot out, the stump of his left just barely grazing the sheets he lay on as he watched Hannibal warily with bright, wide eyes.

Clever thing.

Still so cautious and lovely, despite how wantonly he took his pleasure of the doctor daily.

“Stay very still.”

The instrument Hannibal drew forth made Will whimper and physically squirm backwards and away, until a warm hand caught his ankle and soothed him.

“Be still, sweet boy,” Hannibal whispered, leaning closer to nuzzle against the insides of Will’s thighs. “It is for pleasure, not for pain.”

“Please -”

“Trust me.”

Will swallowed, pressing a hand to his face and shaking his head before letting out a shuddering sigh and nodding instead. He did. He did trust Hannibal. Hannibal who always brought him to such release, who looked out for Will’s safety and sanity, who cared for him so deeply…

He didn’t look at the thing in Hannibal’s hands again, and the doctor didn’t make him. But when Hannibal took the head of Will’s soft cock between his fingers and drew back the foreskin Will whimpered in panic again. Hannibal’s warm palm soothed over Will’s skin until the boy was quiet once more.

The end of the sonde entered easily, lubricated and carefully prepared before. Hannibal’s eyes flicked between his work and Will’s face, still hidden by the palm of his hand. He had no cruel intent towards the boy here, he wanted him to experience something few other people ever would. He wanted to bring Will to such pleasure he forgot to draw breath.

As the instrument slipped deeper, Will held his breath and moved his hand from his eyes to his hair, tugging it over and over as he forced himself to lie still for Hannibal. The sensation was entirely other, he had felt nothing like it before. He couldn’t say immediately whether it was pleasant or unpleasant, all he knew was he felt entirely vulnerable, open as though on an operating table before Hannibal, rather than in their shared bed.

And then -

“Oh,” Will’s back arched, Hannibal’s free hand caught his hips quickly to avoid them following the rolling motion, keeping the sonde very still as Will’s breathing hitched and he grasped the sheets beneath him.

“Very still,” he reminded Will softly, keeping his arm pressed over the boy’s middle as he pushed the sonde in just a little more, just enough to -

“God, oh God, Hannibal - please -”

Will’s prostate, already overstimulated by his orgasm, already pressed to deeply by the plug, now endured the deliberate, slow push of the sonde against it from the other side.

He was overwhelmed.

He could barely hitch a breath, let alone cry out in his pleasure.

Will blinked tears from his eyes and whined pathetically, reaching with spread fingers for Hannibal to ground him. Hannibal released him when he was certain Will wouldn’t buck up and hurt himself, and threaded their fingers together. He continued the minute motions of the sonde in his other hand, just barely touching, enough to spark every nerve in Will’s body to response, enough to bring his boy to dry heaving orgasm with this alone.

“Remarkable boy,” he breathed, licking his lips as Will bit his own and sobbed. “Just look at you.”

He allowed Will several moments to catch his breath, kissed soft against tense and trembling thighs, and then Hannibal turned the sonde within him, relishing the broken plea that shattered from Will’s lips as he worked to bring him over again, and watched him come apart.


	12. Licking, Pet Play, Rimming (Will/OMC) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will had been asked to play roles before, to be a sweet little boy, sometimes a sweet little girl. To be innocent and virginal. To be a schoolboy in front of a schoolmaster, or a slut hungry and begging for cock. Now, he had to pretend to be a beloved pet, crawling to the man when their door closed behind him, nuzzling into his hand, wordless and pleasing._
> 
> _It wasn’t difficult work, not really. And the man paid well. Who was Will to deny almost a day’s full pay from one man if all he had to do was lick his hand and kneel at his side like a dog?_
> 
> As usual, based in [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) verse but not a spoiler as it's pre-[Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204). Plus, a dude I've already written about is back, let's welcome back random fisting guy from [Day 08](https://suntosirius.tumblr.com/post/188208770187/kinktober-day-08-fisting-prostitutionsex-work)!

The man who had fisted Will came back when the old year flowed into the new, and Will did everything in his power to avoid him. He remembered the intensity of the experience, the pain, the overwhelming pleasure after, the relief when it was over. The man hadn’t been cruel, but it wasn’t an experience Will was prepared to relive again in a hurry.

But the man persisted.

He loitered around the mollyhouse asking only for Will, he offered him his initial fee, then double that, until Will couldn’t with a good conscience say no to him. Not to that kind of money. Not to that kind of attention.

There wasn’t affection between them so much as an understanding. Will saw the man three times before he even fucked him, his client much more interested in pushing Will’s body to its limits for his own release.

After that, the games got more elaborate.

Will had been asked to play roles before, to be a sweet little boy, sometimes a sweet little girl. To be innocent and virginal. To be a schoolboy in front of a schoolmaster, or a slut hungry and begging for cock. Now, he had to pretend to be a beloved pet, crawling to the man when their door closed behind him, nuzzling into his hand, wordless and pleasing.

It wasn’t difficult work, not really. And the man paid well. Who was Will to deny almost a day’s full pay from one man if all he had to do was lick his hand and kneel at his side like a dog?

His client seemed to absolute lose himself to the game, speaking with Will as though he were a puppy, stroking his hair, scratching behind his ears, telling him to suck his cock deep before bending Will over and fucking him hard until he spilled. Will could only hope that this play kept innocent dogs out of the man’s reaches, he didn’t even want to imagine if it didn’t.

Soon, the man was bringing more to their games than lubricant and money. He brought a collar, a heavy leather thing, and a leash to match that he had Will wear when they played. He would have Will “fetch” things for him from around the room with his teeth, watching the boy crawl bare and lovely on all fours for him.

One day, he brought Will a tail.

“What sort of master would I be if I didn’t bring my puppy a treat?” he’d said, watching Will as he’d nervously licked his lips before obediently pressing his tongue to the back of the man’s hand instead. “Such a good, good boy for me. Go bend over the bed, spread your legs so I can give you your tail, sweet thing.”

Will obeyed. How could he not? He was making more money from this one man alone than an entire week of faceless johns. He was putting some aside. He wasn’t struggling day to day anymore.

The plug wasn’t as thick as the man’s fist, and the man teased it into and out of Will over and over, working Will up until he was panting against the bed, fingers curling into fists in the sheets.

“Bring your hands back,” he said, “spread your ass for me.”

Will did, blushing furiously and leaking precome to the sheets, he did.

But instead of the plug Will felt something hotter, slicker, licking and curling over him as the man moaned and pressed his face harder against Will’s ass. The sensation was absolutely involuntary, and Will didn’t hold back his sounds of pleasure as lick by lick the man brought him closer to orgasm.

“Sir -” he breathed, squirming, biting his lip as his hands were replaced with the man’s own and he was held still and stretched even wider for his tongue. “Sir, please, I’m -”

“No, no,” breath, cool and tickling over Will’s sensitive skin. “Not yet. Not quite yet. Let master see your pretty tail first, hmm? Show master your tail.”

Will whimpered, arched his back as the plug pressed to him again, forced his muscles to relax as he took it in, inch by inch, until it was settled deep in him, filling him up. The man behind him groaned, voice already breaking with his need.

Will looked over his shoulder at him, ducked his head to see the tail between his own legs, unusual and strangely warm. Experimentally, he wriggled, watching it move. His client whimpered.

“Again,” he breathed. “Do it again.”

Will bit his lip, pressed his thighs together almost shyly, and moved once more, tail wagging in his apparent pleasure. He slid from the bed, onto all fours, and crawled his way over to nuzzle the obvious bulge in the man’s pants, obediently wiggling his hips for the man’s pleasure.

It wasn’t hard work. Not usually. And after that day Will found that the man didn’t even want to fuck him. He just got off on sliding the plug into Will’s bottom, watching him crawl about and “wag” his tail for him before he blew his load over Will’s waiting lips or in his own pants in his excitement.

And Will got paid.

Win-win.


	13. Gags (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Begging was an option, but difficult when one’s mouth was constantly taken up by something gagging it. A constant rotation of toys and tools predicting the next predicament, building the tension, upping the ante._
> 
> A gagging game that really should have a full ficlet attached to it. Another time perhaps ;)

It was all in the anticipation, really. The sexiest thing was knowing what was coming, and endlessly thinking about it, knowing there was nothing you could do to make it stop.

Well.

Almost nothing.

Begging was an option, but difficult when one’s mouth was constantly taken up by something gagging it. A constant rotation of toys and tools predicting the next predicament, building the tension, upping the ante.

“I’d tell you to stay still, but you won’t anyway, squirmy thing that you are.”

Matt just glared at him, an expression entirely ruined by how narrowed his eyes were in pleasure. He turned his hands carefully in the knot that held them in his lap and raised an eyebrow. Anthony grinned back.

“You’ve actually been surprisingly good for me today, I’m impressed.”

Matt snorted, the sound muffled somewhat by the belt between his teeth. Anthony’s belt.

“It’s not every partner that will let you jump them upon returning home and tie them up for a kinky night in. How’s the plug?”

Matt blinked, held up a middle finger. He was sitting on his hip, not his ass, and that thrilled Anthony to no end. He’d had Matt suck the plug between his lips first, before replacing it with the belt. Building a pattern, starting a game. He leaned to tug Matt’s hair gently, kissed his forehead.

“Switch,” he calmly told him, taking the belt and replacing it with a rubber ring. Matt deliberately tongued against it, turning it over and over between his teeth. Not particularly gag-worthy, but he kept his silence, eyeing the belt in Anthony’s hands as the other straightened up again.

When Anthony circled around him, Matt shifted up on all fours, turning to watch Anthony over his shoulder. But to his surprise, the belt didn’t immediately leave a welt on his ass. Instead, Anthony threaded it through its buckle and tucked it around Matthew’s neck, coiling the loose end around the palm of his hand.

“Kept boy,” he teased, tilting his head to watch Matt respond to the term, humiliation and arousal warring within him. “You are that, aren’t you? My kept boy? Lazing about my house, smoking my drugs, drinking my wine, invading my bed.”

Matt made an amused sound.

“I can’t argue that I don’t enjoy it, I’m a cad but I’m hardly a liar.” he tugged the belt a little, enough to tighten but not to choke, and watched Matt’s chin raise with the pressure. Obedient and pretty little thief. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and Anthony could hardly care that he was doing nothing with him every day when they had the means and time to take advantage of being lazy.

He tugged a little harder, listening to Matt’s breathing hitch, watching the way his cheeks darkened, his eyes narrowed and unblinking as they stared through Anthony’s own. Slowly, he released him, bending to kiss against the blush warm just beneath his eye. He reached for something Matty couldn’t see and sighed before moving around to his front again.

“Switch,” he said, freeing the spit-slicked cockring and replacing it with -

“An actual switch this time,” he smiled. “That I will use on your ass, but only when I feel like it. When you’ve earned it, maybe, or when you aren’t looking so goddamn cute bound up and horny.”

Matt shivered, closed his eyes and nuzzled into Anthony’s chest as he let him work the ring up tight behind his balls. He’d take it, the switch, the ring, the belt collar, the plug. He’d take Anthony to the back of his throat with a groan and love every moment of it.

He didn’t need words for that.


	14. Tentacles (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You are growing reckless.” There was amusement in the tone, a coil of pleasure that Will felt to his very bones._
> 
> _“Then do something about it,” Will breathed, grasping fever-warm hands against Hannibal’s face and kissing him deep. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here. This was too open, too stupid, too obvious, and yet Will couldn’t bring himself to care. He kissed Hannibal until cool tendrils of shadow, of Hannibal’s mind and essence, tightened over Will’s wrists and throat and pulled him away._
> 
> Based on a fic I wrote a bajillion years ago called [Others](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392139)... I'd recommend you read it, or if not the fic itself then the notes at the bottom of it to get a better idea of what the everloving fuck is going on.

Days around a Lunacy always made Will irritable. Before, they were filled with insomnia and manic bursts of energy. After, a lethargy and exhaustion he could barely keep away with drugs and caffeine.

It was one of those. A day after a cycle that he could use to excuse his behaviour should anyone ever come looking. And they would, inevitably they always did. They probably already had.

Will didn’t even bother with the talisman. He didn’t even bother to dress beyond soft pants and a threadbare hoodie; his leather boots the only thing on him worth anything at all as he left his shitty apartment and took the stairs at a jog.

He shouldn’t be out after dark. He shouldn’t be out when he felt like this at all, and yet his feet took him the familiar route to the square, the usual place, and Will had barely called up a Shadow before another was in his way.

“You are growing reckless.” There was amusement in the tone, a coil of pleasure that Will felt to his very bones.

“Then do something about it,” Will breathed, grasping fever-warm hands against Hannibal’s face and kissing him deep. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here. This was too open, too stupid, too obvious, and yet Will couldn’t bring himself to care. He kissed Hannibal until cool tendrils of shadow, of Hannibal’s mind and essence, tightened over Will’s wrists and throat and pulled him away.

“You know what you tempt, offering that.”

“Yes.”

The tendrils tightened, cutting Will’s breathing off to a hitch, holding his arms tense at his sides. He didn’t struggle. He smiled. Teeth flickering between sharp fangs and human canines like a badly tuned television as Hannibal watched. Will blinked, allowed his eyes to glow golden, shed the last of his humanness like an old coat.

Hannibal reached to touch him with cold fingers, Will’s lips parting at the sensation of a dead palm against his face, eyes hazy, narrowing to half-mast in his pleasure.

“Have you stopped fighting your nature?”

“Just my choices,” Will replied, throat half constricted by the tendril Hannibal hadn’t yet released. In a blink, Hannibal was closer, face to face, nose to nose with Will, and the younger lifted his chin to him.

The shadow choking him faded to nothing, reconstructing itself from surrounding mist at the hem of his hoodie to slither beneath and Will groaned, wrists twisting uselessly where he remained restrained.

“You want more than this, take it.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to Will’s, down to the pulse humming at his throat. He could smell the moon on him still, sour and painful, a hated transition and an inevitable one for the rest of his life. He could smell more. He could follow Will around the city by scent alone, he was so intoxicating. He had, several times, certain Will was aware of it and allowing it nonetheless.

“I want all of you.”

More coiling shadows, twisting tentacles of ichor and smoke slid beneath Will’s clothes, tormented his flushed skin with icy touches as Hannibal leaned nearer, just a breath away from Will’s parted lips. Will’s sigh trembled from him, his eyes now slits in his surrender. He offered his throat again and whimpered when Hannibal’s teeth grazed it, tempted.

“Then have me,” Will breathed. As shadows wound over his ankles and up to his knees, slid along the panes of his chest and dripped to his navel, slithered between his thighs, to his groin, higher still - “If you want me. You’re the only one that does.”

Oh, but he was wrong. The young man still so bold in his relative youth, still new to the life that would take him over several human lifetimes into cynicism and indifference. He was wrong because he was very wanted. He was needed. He was praised and spoken of and emulated by his Watch. His name was known to Geser. His name was known to Zavulon.

He was very wanted, was Will Graham.

But he had offered himself to none of them. He never would.

So Hannibal released his wrists, relished the strength with which Will wrapped his arms over him, against him, pressing and aching and tired. He brought his own hands to tilt Will’s face to his own as he kissed him, his shadows doing an admirable job dissolving from Will the last remnants of all things not of the Twilight. He wrapped Will in his mind, safe and sound, and vanished them.

They would be found and condemned, and they would find each other as particles in the Twilight and form and reform together over and over in a coiling dance of lust and anguish.

But until then.

Until then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Sergei Lukyanenko books The Night Watch etc. Highly, HIGHLY recommended, and I also recommend the films based on them, even though they're honestly only based on the first two-ish parts of book ONE. So.
> 
> The HUGELY SIMPLIFIED tl;dr is that Hannibal is a vampire, Will is a werewolf/shapeshifter, think Romeo and Juliet but with more mythology, madness, and rules. Hannibal's "shadows" are a combination of inspirations, one of which is Nicodemus from the Dresden Files (another highly recommended series of books) coz shadow tentacles that can manipulate things and have their own mind are hot AF to me.
> 
> I'm ridiculously proud of this story actually, and now really want to write more in the verse, which is terrible since I have so many things on the go right now!!


	15. Human Furniture (Forniphilia), Overstimulation, Intercural Sex (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He had asked of Hannibal as little, this evening, as the man had asked of him all those months ago in the mollyhouse. He rested on all fours, dressed in his favourite lace bloomers and one of Hannibal’s dress shirts that was so large on him it slipped off one shoulder. He stayed still, moved not at all, as Hannibal slowly crossed his feet over his back in the other direction, and adjusted the paper in his hands._
> 
> Seriously all my fucking kinks (except spanking lol) in one goddamn kinktober day?? Please and thank!
> 
> A gift to [asongtosaygoodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongtosaygoodbye%22), [theseavoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices), and [stratumgermanitivum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum) who are the only people I know how love human furniture as much as I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT [THESE](https://www.pinterest.nz/pin/412431278376036211/?nic=1) [ABSOLUTELY NOT SAFE FOR WORK](https://www.pinterest.nz/pin/412431278375867494/?nic=1) [INSPO](https://www.pinterest.nz/pin/412431278376036213/?nic=1) [IMAGES](https://www.pinterest.nz/pin/412431278375964478/?nic=1)

Despite Will’s overall experience before Hannibal bought his debt being far from pleasant, he held certain fond memories for clients or activities he had participated in. Once in a while, a man would buy him who would get creative, who would push Will’s clever mind further than the mechanics of holding his jaw open wide as someone fucked his mouth. Those occasions he remembered. Many of those he had enjoyed.

When Will was feeling particularly playful, he would offer Hannibal a game. He’d whisper in his ear, as though about them were people to overhear his memories and fantasies, and see if the doctor was interested in putting on a different skin for a while.

Hannibal had never said no to him.

Now, as Will curled his fingers into the thick fur pelt before the fireplace and arched his back, he wondered if he had ever been so contented. 

He had asked of Hannibal as little, this evening, as the man had asked of him all those months ago in the mollyhouse. He rested on all fours, dressed in his favourite lace bloomers and one of Hannibal’s dress shirts that was so large on him it slipped off one shoulder. He stayed still, moved not at all, as Hannibal slowly crossed his feet over his back in the other direction, and adjusted the paper in his hands.

Quiet. An all-encompassing quiet that filled Will with such peace he wanted to cry for it. He hadn’t been able to explain it then, he hardly tried to explain it now, but the thought of being as invaluable as he was unimportant thrilled him. He was furniture. He was an item to use. His needs, his emotions, his desires; nothing mattered. The fact that he was keeping Hannibal’s feet up, comfortable, as he read in front of the fire, was all that Will was good for in that moment.

He timed his pulse to the grandfather clock in the hallway, allowing his eyes to glaze over, his breathing to ease to absolute laxity as a minute turned to a dozen turned to half an hour turned to a chime, slow and pensive, marking the hour of eight.

Hannibal folded the paper. He tossed it casually to Will’s back to replace his feet as he stood and left the sitting room, not a word to Will all the while. Will shivered. He bit his lip and ducked his head and tried to ignore how hard he was between his legs. His arms were shaking. He was certain he would fall if he tried to stand now with how numb his legs would be, and he didn’t care.

When Hannibal returned, a closed case in his hands, Will moved nothing but his eyes to track his movement across the room. When he passed out of Will’s line of sight, he smiled and let his eyes close.

While Will always suggested the games, Hannibal inevitably found ways to improve them. A new command, perhaps, when a stranger had offered Will another. A different way to dress, if Will had been putting on an act. Or something newfangled entirely, to surprise a boy who had served him so diligently for such a while.

Will didn’t move, even as he heard Hannibal open the case behind him, even as he heard him uncoil a long cable or rope. Will didn’t know, and truly didn’t care, what was about to happen to him; he knew it would be beyond rewarding in the end. A slight intake of breath when he felt Hannibal’s hand against his thigh, a gentle thing, guiding Will to set his legs together, rather than spread them apart. Will complied. He squirmed when the doctor slipped his hand up the leg of his bloomers to work Will’s cock and balls back between his legs, caught against his tensed thighs. They peeked through the lace in the most scandalous way, and Will had to bite his lip not to make a pleased sound at the thought of what an image he made for Hannibal behind him.

He heard a click of a switch, a loud and unusual humming, and turned his head despite himself; too curious to wait and see. He couldn’t see anyway, despite his best efforts, but he did catch the doctor’s eye, the glint of mischief that turned them to wine rather than whiskey bright within. And then Will’s voice pulled high from him in surprise.

Whatever the doctor held was vibrating, the sensation almost overwhelming when Hannibal touched the device in his hand to Will’s balls, drew it down his cock to torment the head that already leaked copious fluid down his thighs. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and Will was weak at the knees within moments, uncertain what to do. Shivers ran up and down his spine, goosebumps prickled on his arms despite his proximity to the fire. His breathing hitched and he could feel his orgasm grow close faster than he’d ever felt it. He arched his back deeper, seeking more of the delicious torture and whined when Hannibal took it away.

It returned only when Will assumed his position again, along with Hannibal’s free hand, which drew knuckles teasingly over Will’s thighs, up and down and back up again, over and over. He caught come precome against his fingers and brought them to his mouth, relishing the taste of his desperate boy.

“Hannibal -”

“You can come,” Hannibal told him, voice low, pleased, as he continued to tease and torment. “Take your pleasure freely. But remember that a footstool does not move towards its master.”

Will laughed, breathless and young, and ducked his head in a nod, and let his eyes close in rapture. He wouldn’t be able to hold off his orgasm for long at all, and he allowed himself to drown in the overwhelming sensation of it all when it overtook him. His balls tensed, cock spurting slick down against the backs of his thighs, soaking through his bloomers, dripping down to pool at the backs of his knees.

It occurred to him that Hannibal would not be pleased if any were to land in the fur, and Will pressed his thighs tighter together to prevent it. He crossed his good foot over the other and whimpered when the vibrations of the machine grew too intense for his overstimulated, oversensitive body.

For several moments more, Hannibal held Will on the edge of pain with his toying, drawing the device between his legs, bringing it slick to circle Will’s hole through his bloomers just to watch Will squirm and present himself for more.

Perhaps another time.

This evening, Hannibal had other plans for him.

The humming stopped, the machine set away, and Will bit his lip as he heard Hannibal unbuckle his belt, pop free the buttons on his pants. He swallowed thick when Hannibal’s hand stroked himself, the familiar and intoxicating sound of skin on skin. Will hadn’t been prepared for him, no fingers, no tongue, and the thought of the pain that would shoot up his spine sent Will trembling uncontrollably even as he held his position, didn’t move from how Hannibal had placed him.

Hannibal hushed him when he moved closer, his cock sliding up behind Will’s balls, hard and hot for him. He set a soothing hand to Will’s side, and guided his cock not up against his tight little hole, but instead against the side of Will’s spent dick, and between his messy slicked thighs.

Will gasped out in surprise, and bit back a moan of pleasure as Hannibal slipped between his legs, adjusted himself, and held to Will’s hips before starting a fast and rough rhythm against him.

This was an indescribable feeling for Will. It felt like all his nerves had been set on fire, that they were more sensitive than they’d ever been. Hannibal was fucking him, claiming him as ardently as he did every night, but instead of Will’s body he was taking his limbs. He was using Will just as indifferently as when he’d set his feet upon Will’s back. He was using Will to gain his own pleasure, and the thought made Will nearly sob with pleasure. This was beyond anything he could have anticipated when he’d bent to whisper in Hannibal’s ear. This was extraordinary.

He forced himself to remain still as Hannibal took his pleasure of him, he tensed his thighs but did not adjust his posture, did not turn his head. He could feel when Hannibal was close, could feel the coil of his thrusts change and angle downwards, could feel the way he clung to Will’s hips before he stilled, and spilled his seed down between Will’s thighs, mingling with the mess Will had made earlier.

It was filthy.

It was wonderful.

When he was finished, Hannibal kissed lovingly the back of Will’s neck before pulling away and putting himself together again. Will was about to settle back on his heels, stretch his sore shoulders, when he felt Hannibal’s fingers peel away the sticky fabric from Will’s skin and start to lick him clean. Will couldn’t help it, he did sob them, stuttering Hannibal’s name between red-bitten lips as Hannibal worshipped him.

And then he was finished, and Hannibal stood. And as though nothing had transpired at all, he took up his paper, sat back in his chair, and settled his feet to Will’s waiting back.


	16. Frottage, Nipple Play (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He really needed to learn to walk away. He could have spent all day today just… reading. Or sleeping. Or smoking a joint. Or all at once, with the book on his face. But no, Anthony convinced him to run errands together, and not catch a cab but take the train like heathens._
> 
> _Now Matty knew why._
> 
> _He couldn’t fault the man his creativity, that much was true at least._
> 
> For the amazing [BelladonnaWyck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck) for the idea and for loving my boys so much XD

Matt hated him. Sometimes he really, truly hated him. And on those days especially, he found there was little he could do little beyond grin and bear it.

It had been his fault. Kind of. It was his ego’s fault for always wanting to step up to a challenge he neither needed nor particularly wanted to participate in. Anthony would goad him, Matt would retaliate, and then he’d end up on the crowded tube during rush hour wearing fucking nipple clamps under his shirt.

He really needed to learn to walk away. He could have spent all day today just… reading. Or sleeping. Or smoking a joint. Or all at once, with the book on his face. But no, Anthony convinced him to run errands together, and not catch a cab but take the train like heathens.

Now Matty knew why.

He couldn’t fault the man his creativity, that much was true at least.

He stood, now, at the back of the last car, squashed between a woman with five too many shopping bags and a high school kid playing music so loudly it echoed tinny out of his headphones. He’d found a way to balance himself without holding on to anything and tried to distract himself from the far-too-pleasurable sensation of his shirt rubbing against his chest by looking up useless trivia on his phone.

Behind him, Anthony sighed, put-upon.

“You wouldn’t move, would you?”

“Where?”

“Back a bit,” Anthony shifted his own bag down between his feet. “I have far too much space to myself.”

Matt glared at him over his shoulder, eyes narrowing further when Anthony offered a beatific smile in answer.

“I’m afraid I’m quite rooted to the spot,” he replied, dry, and returned to his phone again. He knew without looking that Anthony was still grinning at him, knew that if he didn’t move then Anthony would, and they might have been in the last train car at the very back but they were in public, on the goddamn London underground, and the last thing Matt needed right then was -

“That’s better.”

It hadn’t even been a step, more an ‘accidental’ tripping as the train turned and the people within shifted to the left like some strange moshpit. But now Anthony was pressed up against him, chin on Matt’s shoulder. Matt hummed, not amused, not yet annoyed, and needing to make some sort of sound to release his own slowly building pent up panic.

The train stopped at the next station, no one in their car even looked up. No one bothered trying to get in to join them, and thirty seconds later the train was moving again, and Anthony’s hand was teasing under Matt’s jacket, hidden well enough that no one would actually notice. To Matt’s surprise, he didn’t try to grope him through his pants. Instead, Anthony worked his fingers over the cotton, gathered some into a pinch, and tugged it.

“Fuck sake,” Matt turned his phone off and shoved it into his pocket, trying to use the motion to dislodge Anthony from him. Futile, of course, but he tried. He reached up to grab the handrail as the train turned again and Anthony pressed up closer against him.

“You still swear like a bloody American,” Anthony whispered, close enough that Matt could hear him and no one around them should have been able to. There was enough white noise in the train to cover furtive shifts, whispered words.

Matt hoped.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“Thank you?” Anthony tugged again, pulling Matt’s shirt tight over his stomach, his chest, those god-fucking-awful clamps that brought goosebumps to his arms. Matt bit his lip and said nothing at all. Behind him, Anthony just sighed, turned his head a little to just lean against him and moved as the train moved.

Back and forth, a shift forward, some back, again, again, again, ag-

“Stop. It.”

“No, I like you like this,” Anthony murmured, turning to nuzzle Matt’s hair as he continued to torment the front and back of him. “Look how polite you’re being, not making a scene, not shoving me away. Just letting me fondle you in public for my pleasure. Being so good for me.”

“You’re a right cunt bastard,” Matt managed, though his voice was far from the low displeased growl he’d been aiming towards. He brought his other hand up to hold to the handrail as well and ducked his head between them to hide the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“Mm that’s more like it, now you’re starting to sound like me.” Anthony grinned, knowing Matt couldn’t see him, knowing no one else could see what he was doing to Matt either. His hand had moved higher, spreading his palm over Matthew’s stomach to feel the tension in it, to feel how Matt held himself back from moving or reacting at all. Anthony reached high enough to flick one of the clamps with his finger and pressed a laugh into Matt’s shoulders when he inevitably rocked back against him.

“Eager.”

Matt didn’t even try to reply, what the fuck could he say? They had ten stops until their station, and after that they were changing fucking trains.


	17. Masturbation, Seduction, Orgasm Denial (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Around a bend and just out of sight, Will sighed and eased his back against the cool stone wall, letting his eyes close as he listened for the familiar footsteps that drew patiently nearer. When the man stopped, Will smiled; a coy and lazy unfurling of plush lips to show his teeth. He opened his eyes to take the man in again, to feel his gaze burn heat between his thighs, and then Will dropped his hand to touch._
> 
> More [Aptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780204) history for y'all :D I'm loving these little glimpses they keep giving me into their story... I hope you do too!

If Will thought back on it, which he sometimes did during lazy afternoons in the reading room, or curled up in Hannibal’s chair in his study while he was away at work, Will and Hannibal had met several times before the fateful night he first spoke to Will properly and bought Will’s soul.

Will remembered that one time he had sat in Hannibal’s lap, legs spread wide as he faced him and they shared a glass of wine. Neither had touched the other, both had been hard and aching to and both had resisted. Will had later jerked off in bed, one of the other boys sleepily kissing his throat, as he thought of Hannibal’s eyes, dark like blood and just as hot.

Another time, Will danced deliberately for him, catching Hannibal’s eyes, smiling at him, coiling his body and arching his back only for his pleasure. He couldn’t have cared less how many other men were lusting after him, when Hannibal’s stare had been so intense. He had deliberately not gone to him after, relishing Hannibal’s hungry stare the entire night until the man had gone.

And another night…

Will had caught the man looking at him again, easing his gaze over Will’s sweaty form as he swallowed down water after another dance. He’d been moving for hours, and the boy beside him was exhausted at his instrument. So Will had walked away for just a while, just to catch his breath, to allow the atrium to build up its own rhythm once more.

He made sure he was followed.

Around a bend and just out of sight, Will sighed and eased his back against the cool stone wall, letting his eyes close as he listened for the familiar footsteps that drew patiently nearer. When the man stopped, Will smiled; a coy and lazy unfurling of plush lips to show his teeth. He opened his eyes to take the man in again, to feel his gaze burn heat between his thighs, and then Will dropped his hand to touch.

They didn’t speak here, either, though apart from the majority of the crowd in a place quiet enough to hear should they wish to. Their silence had become their game, their distance had become the challenge, watching the prize.

So Will watched. He watched as the man tilted his head to regard Will’s posture, leaning lazy against the wall like an odalisque. He watched as the other parted his lips when Will parted his own on a breathless sound of need. He watched the hunger grow in those wine-deep eyes as Will’s cock leaked fluid over his fist and slicked the way for him to stroke faster.

Will wanted to come.

He wanted to come and he wanted the other to see and not be able to touch him.

He wanted to come and for the man to remain hard, watching Will the rest of the night.

He wanted.

He didn’t hold back his sounds now, moaning softly as he stroked himself, bringing his free hand up to catch against a nipple and twist, just enough to draw his blush down his throat. Will’s entire body was trembling in anticipation, delighting at being seen, at being devoured by those eyes he’d grown to enjoy seeing here.

He twisted his wrist, breath hiccuping in his throat and -

“Stop.”

They had spoken but rarely. Will knew the accent. He knew the tone and pitch, having replayed it so often in his mind. And he obeyed, holding himself on the very precipice of pleasure as the other watched, pleased.

“Let go,” he said. And Will did, licking his bottom lip into his mouth and pressing his hands flat against the rough stone behind him, leaving a smeared print behind.

When the man stepped nearer, Will didn’t flinch, he didn’t move away. He caught his breath, he allowed his eyes to admire the thick, hard cock erect between the man’s legs before looking up to meet his eyes again.

They were close enough, now, to touch, and didn’t.

“Do not come until I say,” the man breathed, eyes on Will’s, unblinking. Will’s chest heaved on a breath.

“When will you say?” he asked. A smirk in reply, wrinkles at the corners of blood-dark eyes.

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

Will laughed, helpless and pleased, and shook his head. But he didn’t touch. Nor did he touched when the other had looked his fill and turned away to return to the atrium. Nor did he touch when he returned to the dancing, concentrating his energy, his lust, his passion into the movement.

Hannibal had not come back for two nights. And Will didn’t touch.


	18. Role Reversal (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Tell me about them.”_
> 
> _“The dreams?”_
> 
> _“Yes.”_
> 
> A little role reversal in the office for two idiots in love XD

“Hannibal,” Will held open the door, eyes taking in the man before him. “I can’t say I was expecting you.”

“I would hate to intrude,”

“No intrusion, come in.”

This dance was established, choreographed and practiced. But there was such a novelty in mirroring familiar routines. 

Will sat first. Hannibal paced.

“Are you well?”

Hannibal cast a look to Will and shrugged, lips turning in a facsimile of a smile. “Sleep has been difficult,” he admitted. “Some evenings I find myself sitting awake far longer than I should, unable to quiet my mind enough to rest.”

“And when you do sleep,” Will asked, setting his right ankle up against his left knee, “do you dream?”

Dark eyes to blue, a frisson of connection. “Oh, yes.” Hannibal hesitated a moment before redirecting his aimless pacing towards the desk, tidy and wide. “Often, and very pleasantly. I suppose one could say that when I dream I sleep longer, perhaps, than is necessary for my health and wellbeing.”

“Are you escaping into dreams, Hannibal?” Will tilted his head, eyes down to watch the way Hannibal’s hand skimmed over the desk’s smooth surface as he passed it. “Hiding from something in your life that sleepless nights cannot cloak you from?”

“A fan of Jung, Will?”

“An appreciator of his contribution to the success of modern psychiatry,” Will countered, amused, setting his hands folded to his lap as Hannibal circled behind him and finally took the seat across from him. “Do you consider his interpretations pertinent to the dreams you’re having?”

“I suppose that would stem from whether or not I found Jung pertinent at all,” Hannibal replied, amused, and Will had to lick his lip between his teeth to hide his grin.

“Tell me about them.”

“The dreams?”

“Yes.”

“They are quite graphic,” Hannibal confided, leaning closer, “I would hate to offend a sensitive disposition.”

“Should any such dispositions enter my office,” Will replied smoothly, “I will escort them out.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in pleasure, crows feet warming his expression to the intimately familiar. “I dream often of your thighs,” he admitted. “Spread wide before me in bed, or pressed softly together as you bend over to retrieve something. They bear marks, sometimes, phantoms of teeth.”

“Your own?”

“Yes,” Hannibal smiled, sitting back and relaxing his knees to set wide. “Some nights I dream of your mouth upon my skin instead, leaving similar claims in blooming bruises over my throat. Marks of ownership and passion pressed mindlessly in a moment of ecstasy.”

“Perhaps not so mindless,” Will replied softly, a finger drawing pensively over his bottom lip as he watched Hannibal closely.

“Other nights,” Hannibal continued, as though Will hadn’t spoken, though he’d heard him very clearly. “I dream of fucking. Base, animal instinct, rough and raw and brutal as we writhe together in bed. I dream of the sounds I pull from you, the way you beg me to push deeper, to draw your pleasure onto a tightrope, balanced precariously above pain.”

“And?”

“You fall, most nights,” Hannibal grinned. “And thank me for it.”

“I’m curious,” Will sat forward, knees wide to mirror Hannibal’s stance, leaning forward until they’re both close enough to whisper, though they have no need to in a wide office with a closed door. “If dreams so sweet keep you under, why are there nights you say you do not sleep?”

Hannibal’s smile pulled free, crooked teeth parting on a sigh. “On those nights,” he replied, watching the way Will’s face worked hard not to let a smile slip free. “On those nights I reenact my dreams. A pleasure far more potent.”

“So it would seem,” Will agreed, rolling his neck before drawing a hand through his hair. “There is much yet to talk about, and we shall, at our next appointment. I would very much like to hear in greater detail the things that keep you up at night.”

“I’ll be sure to be thorough in my detailing.”

Will smiled then, eyes just as mischievous, just as pleased as Hannibal’s. “Good night, Hannibal.” he told him. “I can only hope it’s a sleepless one for you.”

Hannibal sat back, ducked his head. “As can I,” he said.


	19. Cock-Warming (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Please read me more,” he purred, waiting for Hannibal’s eyes to narrow, for his gaze to slip to the book he held open, and as Hannibal began his recitation Will moved his own hands against himself._
> 
> Aptus Will playing more games...

“More,” Will murmured, smile pouring over his lips like wine. He looked absolutely debauched in his pleasure, hair a mess and cheeks flushed and Hannibal couldn’t deny him even if he’d wanted to. And he certainly didn’t want to.

It had been another game Will had suggested. The first that Hannibal would admit he may not be the clear winner in, at the end.

His boy sat astride him bare, Hannibal’s cock buried deep in his ass, and didn’t move beyond the breath needed to fill his chest. A deliberate and cruel tease. Will was as aroused as Hannibal, his own cock curled red and hot against his stomach, but the mischief in his eyes suggested that he had come prepared with the patience needed to win this game, when Hannibal had not.

Will smiled a little wider when Hannibal did not immediately resume reading him poetry, something Italian Will didn’t understand and honestly couldn’t care to; the language was mellifluous and lovely in Hannibal’s mouth.

“Please read me more,” he purred, waiting for Hannibal’s eyes to narrow, for his gaze to slip to the book he held open, and as Hannibal began his recitation Will moved his own hands against himself.

The rhythm of the poem became his music, his hands the dance he allowed himself. Slow and meditative and entirely deliberate as Will grazed nails against his throat, tickled goosebumps around his nipple, tucked in his stomach as his own fingers teased seeking to the hair between his legs.

He was dancing for Hannibal in the most intimate way he could imagine; touching himself when Hannibal could not, holding Hannibal hot and hard within him without movement, just because he could. He knew - could feel - that Hannibal’s outwardly unaffected demeanor was close to cracking, that soon he would have Will off his lap and against the first available surface. Hands punishing him, mouth devouring him, taking Will over before breaching him properly, claiming him with cruel sharp thrusts, forcing him to come again in payment for his teasing.

Soon, but not yet.

Not quite yet.

When Hannibal’s voice stilled, the poem finished, Will met his eyes with a smirk. “I wonder what would have been written of the likes of me,” he mused, pressing the flat of his hand to Hannibal’s chest, still clothed where Will was bare, fingers spreading against the brocade. “Little wayward things with sharp teeth and sharper bodies.”

“I’m certain I could find a fair few words for you, my Will,” Hannibal replied, still resisting the urge to touch the boy when he was so close, pressed so hot against him, Will’s muscles trembling against his cock as he forced himself to stay still.

“Would they be poetic?”

“They might rhyme,” Hannibal teased. “Though perhaps would not be appropriate for polite company.”

“Then it is very good, Doctor Lecter, that you have no polite company to keep,” Will replied, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it before Hannibal slapped him. It was sharp, sung through him like the first cold breath of winter, and Will moaned, arching his back and allowing one delicious slow pull against Hannibal’s cock as he pushed his knees into the chair either side of Hannibal’s thighs and sat up, before sinking back down on Hannibal’s cock.

“More,” he sighed, once he’d settled, one hand up to draw his sweaty curls off his forehead. He knew he wore Hannibal’s handprint bright against his face, knew he would wear several more if he continued to test the doctor’s patience, and could not wait to see how tight it would draw.

There was a thrill, a true spark of power, when the Doctor leaned near enough to kiss Will sweetly on the lips before turning the page in his book and beginning a poem anew.


	20. Dirty Talk (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Matt threw his head back and groaned. He could talk shit about this kid all damn day but he had a mouth like a goddamn hoover and Matt was losing his mind._
> 
> _“And you didn’t care if it was me or not, did you, who came through that fucking door?” He breathed, dropping his chin to his chest again as the other continued his undeniably practiced and absolutely wanton assault on Matthew’s dick. “Would have gone to your knees for anyone. Would have bent over the goddamn sink and spread your ass for whoever shoved your pants down first.”_
> 
> A little look at what would have happened had these two met in High School.

“You are just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Eyes up, bright, wide, focused. Matt clicked his tongue. “Clearly not enough.”

He caught his fingers in the messy brown hair and thrust his cock deeper. Until there was a choke, until there was a gag.

“Better. Greedy thing. How long were you in here before I came in huh?” Matt pushed in deep and twisted his fingers in the strands between them, making any movement away difficult. “No, now you take it. You take all of it. Stay there.”

The boy between his legs huffed a breath through his nose but didn’t otherwise respond. His throat worked in quick deliberate swallows over the head of Matt’s cock and he cursed, pulling out before he came too soon, yanking the kid up higher on his knees as he bent towards him.

“So how long, huh?” Matt asked again. The kid licked spit from his lower lip.

“Ten minutes? I don’t know.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

The kid snorted. “Am I?”

Matt grinned, a much uglier expression that it should have been, and shoved the boy down again.

“You’re a fucking slut is what you are. So goddamn hungry for cock you drape yourself against any available surface for all to see. Fucking presenting like a bitch in heat, fuck.”

Matt threw his head back and groaned. He could talk shit about this kid all damn day but he had a mouth like a goddamn hoover and Matt was losing his mind.

“And you didn’t care if it was me or not, did you, who came through that fucking door?” He breathed, dropping his chin to his chest again as the other continued his undeniably practiced and absolutely wanton assault on Matthew’s dick. “Would have gone to your knees for anyone. Would have bent over the goddamn sink and spread your ass for whoever shoved your pants down first.”

A moan, vibrating up Matt’s spine and pitching from his own mouth next stopped the volley of filth for a moment, and those dark eyes flicked up to look at him again. Entirely too pleased. Entirely too ready to be just as filthy as Matt was making him out to be. When Matt looked at him, he winked.

“Spread your legs.”

He did, jeans dark against the dingy tile. His cock was aching against the fabric, clearly defined, needing to be touched. Matthew cursed, closed his eyes a moment and pressed a hand to his face to center himself. This kid would be the fucking death of him.

“Just from this?” Matthew teased quietly after a moment. He raised his eyebrow until the kid nodded, eyes closing, cheeks flooding with heat. “You really are a cockslut, aren’t you?”

Another bone-shattering moan that had Matt catching himself against the stall door with one hand, the other down to curl under the boy’s jaw, feeling it work as he fed him his cock in faster thrusts. He watched through half-closed eyes as one of the kid’s hands slipped down to press against the bulge in his pants and felt a growl purr in his throat.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he sighed, tugging his hair hard until the kid looked up, eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Don’t you dare fucking touch that, I want you aching all fucking day.”

_Like I’ve been aching all goddamn day. All goddamn week. The entire goddamn time since you transferred from whatever prissy prep school you came from and sassed me in the hallway._

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Matt shoved both hands against the stall door and sped up his thrusting, panting as he felt his pleasure grow closer, hotter, heavier between his legs until -

He shoved the kid back, stroked himself, and painted white over those red lips, over the blush on his cheeks, those long goddamn lashes. Some caught in his hair. Some dripped from his chin and landed wet above the third button on his uniform. Matt groaned.

When he was done he slapped both hands to the wall again and caught his breath. Somewhere out in the corridor, the bell rang for fourth period.

“Six.”

“What?”

“This is the sixth time you’ve come on my face,” Anthony replied, reaching around Matt for the toilet paper to bunch up and wipe his face clean. “In four days.”

Matt blinked down at him, licked his lips. “So?”

“So,” Anthony sighed, accent dragging into a drawl as he pushed himself to stand with a wince, shoving his way between Matt and the wall. “It’s about time you asked me the fuck out, innit?”

“You think so?”

Anthony raised a brow. “You actually want me to suck off any guy I can find?” he asked. Matt’s top lip twitched in a snarl.

“Don’t -”

“Then I’d suggest you be quick about it,” Anthony told him, grin splitting wide. “Coz the track team has free period after lunch, and my appetite is known to spike when you’re mean to me.”

He glanced meaningfully between his legs before looking at Matt again. When the other didn’t reply, Anthony just leaned closer and kissed him, chaste and soft against his lips.

“Think on it. You know where I eat lunch.” Anthony ducked beneath Matt’s arm and scooped his backpack from where it had landed under the sinks before washing his hands and checking his reflection in the mirror. He hummed, displeased, at the drop above his button and made sure Matt was watching as he ducked his head to tongue it away. “You’ll be late for Latin,” he called, pushing the door open and sashaying his way out.

Matt couldn’t give a flying fuck about Latin. But he did yank his pants back up and fixed his belt. He didn’t ask people out. He didn’t date. It wasn’t what he did. But Dimmond was a kid of his word and Matthew was certain that he would fuck the entire goddamn school if it would make Matt come to his senses. And he wasn’t sure his pride could handle even one member of the fucking track team.


	21. Suspension (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I promised you wings,” Hannibal told him softly, nuzzling against his boy’s cheek as Will regarded the ropes, the pulleys, the chains. “Today I’ll have you fly.”_
> 
> _Will kissed him, eyes closed and trusting, and moved where Hannibal wanted him._
> 
> Aptus verse. And based on this [ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D9tkS0AWwAAh0ul?format=jpg&name=medium) photograph I found on twitter.

It was rare that Hannibal was able to practice his techniques on a living body; few boys had ever been worth his time to enjoy this with, and struggling was far from what he needed when the art of shibari was patience itself. When he brought the idea up with Will, the young man had grinned, tilted his head back to finish his wine, and asked what he should wear for the occasion.

Will enjoyed his games, but Hannibal had several of his own. Games rooted in patience and aesthetics, practicing ancient artforms from cultures far beyond English shores.

For a time, Hannibal had lived abroad; an uncle of his had married a Japanese woman of high standing and had chosen to return with her to her country after the wedding. He had invited Hannibal and hosted him for several months at their home when he was still a student. He had returned inspired, educated, and in possession of new hobbies.

As Hannibal waited, having instructed Will to wear nothing but his underwear and meet him in the workshop, he considered the possibilities before him. Shibari was art made breathing, a human body contorted and tied for aesthetic pleasure, and Will… Will was the spirit of dance embodied.

By the time Will joined him, shivering in the cool basement, Hannibal had set up a camera, had brought lamps close to light his workspace, and had thoughtfully stoked a portable iron stove for Will’s comfort.

“I promised you wings,” Hannibal told him softly, nuzzling against his boy’s cheek as Will regarded the ropes, the pulleys, the chains. “Today I’ll have you fly.”

Will kissed him, eyes closed and trusting, and moved where Hannibal wanted him.

To start, a harness. A woven net of support over Will’s shoulders and chest to hold him secure; arms bent and bound behind him. Hannibal checked the tightness of the bonds with two fingers between rope and skin, kissed Will’s hammering pulse, reassured him with soft words even as he wound the rope next over his throat, and up over his eyes.

“Trust me,” he whispered. Will nodded, without a word.

From torso to thighs; where Will balanced on his good leg as Hannibal worked an intricate coil between his thigh and the end of his prosthetic, bending his knee and turning it out just a little. Will laughed, trying to keep his balance, leaning into Hannibal when the doctor held him still.

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asked him. Will licked his lips, smile impossible to hide, now, though he could hardly see through the rope over his eyes, could feel the bite of hemp against his skin with every breath.

“Light,” he admitted. “Light as air,”

Hannibal guided Will’s weight against him, cradled the boy to his chest as he knelt and lay Will down on a blanket to complete the last of his design.

Another woven net, this one around Will’s right leg, from thigh to ankle where Hannibal secured a thick supportive knot about his foot. He watched his boy experimentally point his toes, try to bend; just testing the bonds rather than struggling against them. Will was flushed in pleasure, hard in the underwear that covered him, and Hannibal was certain that were he able to see Will’s eyes, they would be glazed.

Hannibal himself had found the experience of being bound utterly transformative; pushing his mind beyond his body until the knots were eased and only red marks remained where he’d been tied.

He checked his work. 

He looped a final knot to the harness he’d woven over Will’s chest, and secured his boy to a chain.

“Breathe, Will.”

Will made a soft sound, but said nothing. So Hannibal pulled, watching the chain links line up until they stood rigid, until they pulled with them the ropes they held. Will’s leg lifted first, and Hannibal made sure to pace it slowly, so as not to jar delicate bones or cause undue discomfort.

Will remained calm; as his thighs left the ground, his hips, his chest, his shoulders, his head. He didn’t swing, Hannibal had been too careful to make sure he wouldn’t, but he could feel himself being raised higher and higher as though any moment now he would be through the ceiling and in the kitchen, higher still and in the music room. He laughed again, bright and warm, and arched his neck, seeking for Hannibal.

“Be still,” the doctor murmured, but he was far from displeased. He couldn’t look away. “Be still, Will, I’m here.”

“Come closer.”

So he did, kneeling by his boy’s head and drawing a hand through silken curls. “You are ravishing,” he told him, watching Will’s smile pull brighter, his chest expand in pride.

“Show me,” Will asked him.

The camera was a simple one, a Kodak. Hannibal had stolen many a soul with it before, hiding away a collection of faces long gone from this earth. Now, he pointed it at Will to keep him safe within its round exposure. Hannibal took his time; different angles, coming closer, stepping away. He breathed slowly, allowed his heart beat to guide him in a meditative dance around his floating boy.

Will did not complain. He relaxed his neck, let his head drop back, and hung suspended. As Lucifer on his descent to Hell.

Hannibal set the camera side only when Will’s breathing started to hitch, the pressure of the rope against his skin starting to grow uncomfortable. But before he lowered Will, Hannibal got to his knees before him, lay on his side, and looked up at Will from the floor.

“Extraordinary,” he whispered, smiling when Will immediately turned to the sound. His boy smiled back.

“And yours,” he reminded him.

Perhaps another time, in another era, a camera would exist that one could time to photograph as needed. Until then, Hannibal would content himself with his own mental image, his collection of photographs, and sketch himself in repose beneath his boy, arched up to kiss him as Will grinned and kissed him back.


	22. Impact Play, Hand Jobs (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With a sigh, Hannibal stepped to the side of him, close enough to touch, and wrapped one arm around Will’s slim form. “Are you ever satisfied?” He asked, put-upon, even as one hand sought into Will’s bloomers to pull his cock free, hard and slick already. With his other, Hannibal reached to torment Will’s nipples, thumbing over one, grazing the other with a fingernail._
> 
> Aptus Will has been aching for more words lately, I owe that story another chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on porn. No, like actual porn. 
> 
> I'll link it in the endnotes, but be prepared it goes _to porn_.

Will squirmed, impatient and needy even bound up as he was. It wasn’t the first time he had disturbed the doctor in his study, it was certainly not the first time he had done so this evening, but it was the first time Hannibal had snapped and done something about it.

Now Will stood, tethered to the iron curtain rail by a length of rope, stretched far enough that his weight was on his toes or on his wrists and nothing in between. His shirt hung open over his bare chest, underwear soft and slightly loose against his hips with how he was sucking his stomach in trying to stay still. One of Hannibal’s cravats between his teeth to keep him quiet.

Quieter.

He called for Hannibal, petulant and lovely, words muffled to a moan against the fabric, shifting from his foot to his prosthetic over and over, tilting his head back in frustration, dropping it forward to watch Hannibal through his lashes.

Whether Hannibal was genuinely displeased at the interruption or playing at it, it didn’t matter to Will. He wanted Hannibal to touch him, to fuck him, to satisfy the need that had been eating through his bones since morning when Hannibal had left him sweaty and messy in bed.

Maybe he was growing greedy.

Will really didn’t care.

Several more moments of shuffling about, tugging uselessly at his bound hands, trying to reach the little ottoman with his foot that was just out of reach, when Hannibal looked up and Will froze, grinning at him.

“You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Will shook his head.

“Has it occurred to you, you spoilt thing, that I may have matters to attend to that do not revolve around you?”

Will’s smile grew, eyes narrowing in his absolute delight as he shook his head again. He watched the doctor contemplate the book before him a moment more, before he closed it and stood, unfolding himself from the chair with feline grace that made Will shiver. He moved, faster than anyone should at such a pace, and stood before Will, tall enough that the boy raised his head to see him. In silence they considered each other, before Hannibal drew his hand back and struck Will across the face.

“You know I do not tolerate lying, Will,” he said calmly, flexing his fingers before looking at Will again. The boy’s eyes were hooded in pleasure, cheeks pink with blush and one now darker than the other, where Hannibal had hit him. He blinked up with wide eyes, needy, trusting, so aroused. 

With a sigh, Hannibal stepped to the side of him, close enough to touch, and wrapped one arm around Will’s slim form. “Are you ever satisfied?” He asked, put-upon, even as one hand sought into Will’s bloomers to pull his cock free, hard and slick already. With his other, Hannibal reached to torment Will’s nipples, thumbing over one, grazing the other with a fingernail.

Will squirmed harder, absolute delight on his face as Hannibal teased him. He was close already, he would come soon. And then, perhaps, Hannibal would untie him and let him rest with his head in the doctor’s lap as he continued his reading. The thought was absolute bliss.

Hannibal pushed Will’s underwear down his thighs and held him still around his middle as he swatted Will’s bottom over and over with a hard hand until Will was keening in pleasure, breathless with it, cock dripping to the floor between his feet. He still wore bruises from the night before on his thighs, his skin sang with sensation.

“Insatiable, greedy, petulant thing, why do I keep you?” Hannibal asked him, grasping Will’s hair to yank his head up and meet his eyes, his own softening at seeing his boy so far gone already, with just such minimal play. Hannibal caught his chin gently and pressed a kiss to the cheek he hadn’t struck.

“Because you are entirely my own,” he answered his own question, dropping his hand to stroke Will’s cock with deliberate tugs, quick and practical, pushing Will closer to the brink of his pleasure. When Will whimpered, trying to arch back, Hannibal caught his leg and wrapped it back against his own thighs, his other hand coming around Will’s side to keep tormenting him.

“Because you are as hungry as I am, as determined in getting what you want, and damn the consequences.”

Will could barely balance on his other leg, he had nothing but the end of it, blunt and narrow, and rotated more than shifted when he tried to get away from Hannibal’s hands, determined to try to make this last just a little longer. Hannibal did not relent. He did not release him. He stroked until Will’s breath hitched, until his fingers coiled hard over the rope that bound him and he cried out into the gag in his mouth as he came. Thick, hot tendrils of his pleasure sticking to his stomach, to Hannibal’s hand, to the wood panelled floor.

With a hum, Hannibal let Will go to regain his balance, catching his face in his hand and working free the cravat from between his teeth.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked Will mildly, bringing his messy hand to his lips to languidly lick his fingers clean as Will watched, nodded.

“For now,” he replied, smiling bright. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile back.

“Quite.” he wiped his hand with the cloth and tossed it to a side table to gather later. Then he straightened his clothes and turned back to his previous activity. “You may join me, if you wish,” he told WIll over his shoulder.

“Then you should untie me,” Will said.

“No, I think I’ll let you get free on your own,” Hannibal said, settling back into his seat and giving Will a mischievous look. “You almost had the ottoman,” he reminded him as he opened his book.

Will snorted. Boneless and lazy in his pleasure, he supposed it was only fair enough that he face similar irritation to what he’d inflicted on Hannibal. With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, found his center, and tried to reach for the ottoman again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[inspoporn](https://xhamster.com/videos/sex-torture-5757079#mlrelated)]


	23. Scars (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some days, he wouldn’t curl up next to Hannibal but insinuate himself into his lap, letting his hands trace the well-known paths of Hannibal’s scars. Lips followed fingers, whisper-soft and dry, and closed only on the most cruel of them, as though sucking poison from a wound._
> 
> More intimacy than porn but...

Will had been able to feel a storm coming in his bones long before he got the scars. The scars just helped him pinpoint their intensity. They’d moved as far from the sea as humanly possible, but once in a while Will would catch a whiff of salt on the air before the smell of ozone numbed him to it and shiver.

Days like those, he would curl up next to Hannibal on the sofa, eyes closed tight despite not actually sleeping, and rest against him. The warmth helped, the comfort helped, the closeness, too. Their intimacy had grown into a quiet and soft thing; reliable like a well-worn coat.

Some days, that was enough.

Some days, Will needed more.

Some days, he wouldn’t curl up next to Hannibal but insinuate himself into his lap, letting his hands trace the well-known paths of Hannibal’s scars. Lips followed fingers, whisper-soft and dry, and closed only on the most cruel of them, as though sucking poison from a wound.

By the time Will reached Hannibal’s stomach, his face would be tilted up again, and Hannibal would begin his own explorations there.

Some storms Will weathered on his own. Some storms he could ignore with his face pressed soft to familiar thighs as they sat by the fireplace. Other storms, Will needed mooring. He needed grounding. He needed Hannibal’s lips against the parts of his face he couldn’t feel anymore reminding him that he existed. He needed Hannibal’s lips against his own to remind them both that they both did.

And so some storms were weathered by tracing familiar roadmaps of pain over each other’s bodies. Marks they had scarred against each other, marks they weren’t there to help lick clean, marks they took together with them into the ocean.

Panted breaths and wet lips and cool fingers making patterns of the randomness and beauty of the ugliness. Over and over. Night after night. Tracing scars with reverent hands as though it would make them both whole again.


	24. Lap Dances (Will/OMC) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was just a simple scale, fingers deft and clever over the strings that made water out of the air around it, and Will found himself moving to it; familiar basic motions that he had practiced at the school countless times. Gentle arms, light as a feather, elegant curves of his body as he moved, turned through into his center, out and around it. He didn’t even notice he was dancing until more eyes were on him, following his improvised movement over the stone floor, and he stopped._
> 
> Pre-Aptus... the day (or days) Will discovered how to make the club work for _him_.

Will had stopped limping from pain, now, and had called Hellfire home for six weeks. He was exhausted and sore, and found that more often than not wine was the only thing that could get him to sleep through the day before this nightmare started again.

He couldn’t leave. He’d tried.

But every breath he took was worth money to the men who owned him, and the longer he stayed the harder it was for him to go. He supposed he never would. He would die in one of the rooms, flogged to death or fucked out and never again see daylight.

It would be fitting, he supposed.

The evening was still young, just the boys and some of the Brothers in the atrium and some guests who always arrived early, their favourite boys already in mind to torment before they got too weak to enjoy. One of the younger boys - though, who knew with how they all acted - was plucking at the strings of a harp, trying to tune it by ear. Music wasn’t uncommon at the club, but Will had rarely had time to enjoy it for what it was, rather than a backdrop to the sounds he made himself.

It was just a simple scale, fingers deft and clever over the strings that made water out of the air around it, and Will found himself moving to it; familiar basic motions that he had practiced at the school countless times. Gentle arms, light as a feather, elegant curves of his body as he moved, turned through into his center, out and around it. He didn’t even notice he was dancing until more eyes were on him, following his improvised movement over the stone floor, and he stopped.

A boy who had taken Will more or less under his wing - Joseph - came up and took his hand, tugging Will urgently to follow.

“Why didn’t you say you could do that?”

“What?”

“You can dance.”

“That was hardly dancing -”

“Will,” Joseph stopped him, held both hands in his own. “It’s enough. They will watch you. If they watch you, they can’t hurt you. Dance for them.”

“I’ve never -” he bit his lip, cast his eyes quickly to the side where men stood, eyeing the two of them. “I never finished the school, I -”

“They don’t care,” Joseph whispered. “They don’t care, Will. They want to see your body, they come to see it. Show it to them, but do it this way, on your terms, not theirs.”

Will considered him, a sweet youth who had started out much like Will had, on the streets, before finding himself here. He hadn’t been here much longer than Will had, just a few months more. Boys like them did not help a long shelflife in Hellfire. Gently, Will squeezed his hands, and moved to lead him behind, towards one of the antique chairs by the fire.

“Sit there.”

“Why?”

“Help me show them.”

Will looked to the boy at the harp, who’d been watching along, curious, and gestured for him to play, to play anything, even the scales again, if it gave Will something to work with and move to.

He hadn’t planned anything beyond just moving, he had never done anything like this before. When Will danced, he danced for himself, he danced for the sheer freedom that came with it. He had never danced for another before, he had never had to understand choreography. So he just… danced.

The music was enough to get his mind to the cool soft place he hid in when the worst nights at the club brought him down, and his body did the rest. 

They wanted to see his body? They would; coiling before Joseph in the chair, down to his knees and arching back to drag his fingers along the stone, back bridged and ribs standing stark under his skin. Then palms flat on the floor, body unfurling into a standing position, hips up and thighs spread for balance and for the coy pleasure it brought Will to show himself this way. When he smiled at Joseph, it was genuine. He was enjoying this.

Hands curled over the arms of the chair as Will undulated in slow, deliberate motions over the other boy, hips turning one way, then the other, head ducked to rest in his lap before drawing up his chest, to his throat, to his lips -

He kissed him then, just once, and pulled back to repeat the movement facing their audience, legs spread wide as his knees bent, slowly closing as he stretched to his full form and balanced his weight on the arms of the chair, bent back in an arch over the chair and the boy in it.

His toes caught the insides of Joseph’s calves and spread them, lowering himself to be just above his body, just close enough to tease, close enough to tempt as Will rolled his hips and ducked his head. He felt good. He felt free. He felt alive and aroused and powerful. And when he set his hands to his knees and finally straightened up properly, the way the men were looking at him made Will smile.

He turned to Joseph, found the boy similarly hypnotized, and just as hard.

“On our terms,” Will whispered, holding out his hand to his friend. Joseph took it.

“No, Will. On yours. With that you will have them do anything for you.”


	25. Boot Worship (Anthony/Matt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“No, I’m not letting you out that goddamn door til I fuck you.” Matt licked his lips. “Shit.”_
> 
> _Anthony’s smile darkened to something teasing, something a little more predatory. “That damn mouth of yours, Matthew Brown, will get you into serious trouble one day.”_
> 
> _“It already fucking has,” Matt laughed, helpless and bright. “Never should have talked to you in prison.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwbacks to first time meetings in Escapists, for those following that verse :3

“Oh sweet Jesus fuck,”

“Eloquent, as always.”

Matt didn’t know what else to say, really. They’d gone to Anthony’s estate - because of course he had a fucking estate - and they’d shared a room that in Matt’s opinion belonged in a goddamn museum, and then he’d been asked to wait in the sitting room - because there was also a reading room and a drawing fucking room apparently - while Anthony “dressed for the day”, and now this.

_This._

Anthony dressed like Colin fucking Firth in Pride and Prejudice, with riding jodhpurs and a shirt that goddamn frothed at his throat, and a fitted jacket and fucking riding boots. Riding boots that hugged his legs to the knee and that made Matt’s own entirely weak just looking at them.

He didn’t even know why. He’d seen boots before, for fuck’s sake. He’d been around bikers and gangs, around people with money who dressed well. But seeing them on Anthony, here, like this, Matt was certain that all of his blood and most of his decision making had migrated down to his cock.

Matt swallowed. “You’re not going out like that.”

“Am I not?” Anthony grinned, making his way closer and grasping Matt’s collar to straighten it out. Messy boy. Matt shook his head, eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he blinked at Anthony, a grin that always made him look just a little goofy taking over his face.

“No, I’m not letting you out that goddamn door til I fuck you.” Matt licked his lips. “Shit.”

Anthony’s smile darkened to something teasing, something a little more predatory. “That damn mouth of yours, Matthew Brown, will get you into serious trouble one day.”

“It already fucking has,” Matt laughed, helpless and bright. “Never should have talked to you in prison.”

Anthony chuckled, pleased, and drew a hand through Matt’s hair to tug it. “Untamed now as you were then, insatiable thing. Ask me nicely.

“Please let me fuck you before we get out that goddamn door.” Matt offered with a smirk, knowing full well that wasn’t what Anthony meant, groaning in pleasure when his hand tightened in Matt’s hair.

“Try again.”

“Please,” Matt sighed, put upon, bringing his hands up to rest against Anthony’s chest. “Allow me to peel these ridiculous fucking clothes from you and make love to you long enough for your voice to echo through this entire fucking house. Sir.”

Anthony’s smile melted, lazy. “Better. Try again.”

Matt cursed, laughing, met Anthony’s eyes with a narrowing of his own, before gently shaking his head so Anthony let him go.

He knelt. Slowly, deliberately, eyes up to Anthony the entire time before he reached for one of his legs and set Anthony’s foot to his thigh.

“Anthony goddamn Dimmond,” he said, leaning in to rub his cheek against the leather of his boots. “Will you, _please_,” he turned his face just enough to drag his lips over the material, leaving a smear of spit behind. “Let me take you up those godawful stairs,” a pause, deliberate, as Matt looked up at him and drew his tongue slowly over the leather that covered the expanse of Anthony’s shin. “And shut you the fuck up?”

Now that… that… that Anthony could work with. If he ever remembered how to speak again. He had been quite thoroughly shut up indeed. So he just nodded, quick and pleased and almost nervous, laughing when Matt grinned, triumphant, and moved to stand in front of him once more.

“Upstairs,” he breathed, nipping at Anthony’s lips before the other could kiss him.

“Fine,” came the quiet reply, the older man gently guiding Matt to walk backwards before they reached the stairs. “I forgot my riding crop on the bed, anyway.”


	26. Role Play, Smiling/Laughter (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hannibal did love him like this, when Will played little and delicate and silly. He was an extraordinary force when he was himself, but once in a while - perhaps when he was tired, or restless, or in need of a particular kind of care - he would pitch his voice higher and widen his eyes, bite his lip, and call Hannibal -_
> 
> _“_Daddy_,” Will whined softly, nuzzling against Hannibal a little harder. “Wake up.”_
> 
> Written originally for the lovely @[what_about_the_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/pseuds/what_about_the_fish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting used to writing daddy kink... please be kind XD but... I need the practice ;) *foreshadowing vibes*

“Daddy,”

Hannibal hummed, it was late afternoon, and he’d fallen asleep without meaning to. The sun had been so nice in the reading room and he’d had no obligations for the day and his body… perhaps his body just decided to indulge itself in slumber. It hardly mattered, because Will was nuzzling against him now, that tone, that word, suggestive of a particularly playful mood.

Hannibal did love him like this, when Will played little and delicate and silly. He was an extraordinary force when he was himself, but once in a while - perhaps when he was tired, or restless, or in need of a particular kind of care - he would pitch his voice higher and widen his eyes, bite his lip, and call Hannibal -

“_Daddy_,” Will whined softly, nuzzling against Hannibal a little harder. “Wake up.”

“What is it?”

“I feel funny,” Will confided in a stage whisper, grinning when Hannibal opened one eye to regard him.

“Where, sweet boy?”

“Here,” Will grasped Hannibal’s hand and guided it to his stomach, covered, for now, in one of Hannibal’s shirts. One, Hannibal noticed with both amusement and dismay, that had been particularly expensive. “Here in my tummy,” Will pressed his hand lower, to the warm bend of his hip, just to where Hannibal could feel the tip of the boy’s cock hard in his pants.

Hannibal turned a bit more on the couch he’d been reclining, keeping his hand where Will had placed it, opening both eyes to see him. Will looked radiant, bright eyes and curls like chocolate in the sun. Beneath it all he looked exhausted. Beautiful, beautiful boy.

“Does it hurt, Will?” Hannibal asked him, smiling when his boy bit his lip and shook his head. “Tell Daddy how it feels then.”

“It feels tickly,” Will admitted, “like when your fingers skip over my skin but don’t touch. And warm. And a little…” he sighed, resting his chin against Hannibal’s chest and looking up at him.

“A little what, Will?”

Will blinked at him, mischievous and pretty, and shook his head, teasing. Hannibal hummed, considering, let the hand against Will’s belly rub slow circles against his groin, just far enough away from his cock to be teasing.

“You won’t tell Daddy?” Will shook his head again, eyes closing in his enthusiasm. “That’s not what good boys do, Will. you know you have to tell Daddy the truth.”

Will shivered at the words, opened his eyes again and once again shook his head, this time slowly, deliberately. Defiant and playful and sinful all at once. Hannibal clicked his tongue, raised his eyes as though uncertain of what he could possibly do to make his boy behave, and then he moved the hand from Will’s belly to his side, and curled his fingers inwards.

Will shrieked, jolting back from Hannibal and laughing when the doctor caught him, too quick even for involuntary responses.

“Daddy no!”

The tickling was enough to have Will squirm closer, try to push away, laughter breathless as Hannibal didn’t relent. He moved up under Will’s arm and the boy’s laugh was a shout from his throat as he thrashed against him, trying to get away.

“Daddy please stop! Please - no -!”

“You know how to make it stop sweet boy,” Hannibal told him, catching his leg against Will’s own to hold him still, despite how Will moved against him as though electrified; cheeks ruddy with his laughter, eyes bright with tears.

“Daddy!” Will squeezed his thighs together, turned his head against Hannibal’s chest, his giggling pitched. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry, Daddy, I’ll tell the truth I’ll tell!”

Hannibal relented, gathering Will to him as he caught his breath and trembled, residual shudders chasing each other up and down his back until he settled. When Will looked up from beneath tumbled curls, Hannibal raised an expectant eyebrow, a hand poised in warning should Will decide to change his mind.

Will bit his lip and squirmed against him, pressing closer, whispering the words like a secret against Hannibal’s throat.

“It feels a little naughty, Daddy,”

Hannibal hummed, the sound like a purr between them, and Will spread his thighs over him and rocked his body down, his erection seeking Hannibal’s own beneath his clothes.

“It feels naughty because only Daddy can touch me there,” Will breathed, bringing his hand to his mouth, a knuckle catching between his teeth as he continued to rub against Hannibal. “It feels like… like when Daddy’s fingers rub my bottom, between the cheeks, just -” he gasped quietly, trembling against Hannibal as he worked himself up with his own words. “Where only Daddy can touch, because that’s Daddy’s hole to touch.”

“Good boy,” Hannibal murmured, dropping a hand to do just that, teasing against Will as he continued to rut against him, as Will pressed his lips against his knuckle to suck softly before sleepily opening his eyes again. “That is only for Daddy to touch. It’s where Daddy makes his boy feel very, very good.”

“Yeah,” Will whimpered, hips stuttering in their motion, back arching into Hannibal’s hand, presented and lovely. He was clothed, but barely. It didn’t take much for Hannibal to move aside the soft fabric and squeeze Will’s bare bottom in his hand. Will stretched out in pleasure against him.

“When did you start to feel like that, Will?” Hannibal asked him, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers before parting Will’s cheeks and teasing tickling touches there. Will made a fussy sound.

“I was thinking about… stuff.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was,” Will licked his lips, curled his fist by his cheek. “I was thinking about how I was going to dress up and surprise you and you would pick me up and put me on the bed and spread my legs and -” Will keened quietly, pleased when Hannibal stroked him properly, his cock grinding hard against Hannibal’s thigh when he shifted enough to press it between Will’s legs.

“You were thinking about Daddy touching you?”

“Yeah,” a shiver. “And I… I wanted to touch, even though Daddy said not to, and I did, a little, just a little, and it started to tickle and I went to wake you up.”

“So you were a little naughty, then,” Hannibal told him, ducking his head to look down when Will’s eyes peeked from behind his curls again. “You touched yourself when Daddy wasn’t there.”

Will pouted, lips a perfect cupid’s bow, and nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

Hannibal hummed again, freeing the hand that had been working Will up so deliciously slowly, relishing the displeased whine that drew. “You know what happens when you’re naughty, Will.”

“I know,” Will mumbled into Hannibal’s chest, turning his head into the hand that stroked his curls. “I get spanks for being naughty.”

“Yes, you do.” Hannibal gently tugged his hair, just enough to lift Will’s face again. “You didn’t tell Daddy the truth, and you touched without Daddy’s permission. That’s a lot of spanks.”

Will pouted again, shook his head. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, baby boy, you do.”

Will bit his lip gently, released it. “If I’m a good boy for Daddy, will you touch me?”

Hannibal pretended to consider. “If you’re a good boy for Daddy,” he agreed, “and bend over Daddy’s knee and take your punishment on your bare bottom,” Will whimpered quietly, cheeks flushing in pleasure. “Then Daddy will touch, just there, where it tickles, and make his boy feel very good.”

Will swallowed, pupils blown and face flushed and so, so hard against Hannibal. He turned just a little, just enough to feel Hannibal’s palm slip from his hair to his cheek, and kissed there.

“I’ll be good, Daddy,” he promised, nuzzling his hand before pulling away. He moved just enough to stand up, to watch Hannibal shyly as he tugged his underwear down over his hips and let them fall to his ankles. And then he bent, as he’d been told, and presented his pert little bottom for Hannibal’s hand.


	27. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Degradation, Against a Wall (Hannigram) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will’s fantasies varied, branched into alternative scenarios depending on who had come for dinner. _
> 
> Aptus Will gets bored at parties and makes his own fun.

Will thought about it most often when the Doctor had guests; vapid, ignorant people who did nothing more than eat his food and fill their bellies with his wine. They professed friendship and brotherhood, called themselves Hannibal’s compatriots and mentors. How he put up with them was something Will hadn’t been able yet to understand; he himself could barely stomach them.

On those nights, he imagined distracting his lover, finding a way for the upper crust to see who their beloved Doctor was beneath his suits and false smiles. Imagined coming down the stairs not in his best cravat and vest, but in his bloomers, a velvet band against his throat, knees rouged and lips painted. He imagined walking right up to Hannibal and sweeping him into a kiss, deep and sloppy and filled with needy moans. Imagined how the doctor would respond; initial hesitation, unavoidable reciprocation, inevitable degradation.

“Proud, pretty thing, you forget yourself,” he would say, yanking Will back by his hair, arching his back so his chest and throat were on display, the outline of his cock obvious in his underwear.

“Remind me, then,”

Will’s fantasies varied here, branched into alternative scenarios depending on who had come for dinner. 

If it was the board of directors from Bethlehem Hospital, proclaiming their deep connections to Christ and His teachings while gambling, drinking, and whoring prominently at many social events, Will imagined Hannibal would beat him. Imagined putting up an entirely false struggle as Hannibal pushed him to bend over one of the wingback chairs as he pulled free his belt. Imagined how loudly he’d moan and beg, whimpering and trembling as Hannibal whipped him. Imagined the tightly held breaths, the licked lips, the arousal-blown eyes as Hannibal stripped his bloomers from him and forced him to thank him for every stripe against his bare ass until it was raw and red from his punishment.

Catholics, he knew, had a thing for corporal punishment.

If it was his colleagues from the university, holding up Hannibal as the paragon of patience and virtue, Will imagined Hannibal poured words of filth into his ear. Forcing Will to meet the eyes of the educated and pampered men as Hannibal called him a slut and a whore, smeared the red from his lips and forced Will to his knees. He imagined he’d choke on his cock, again and again, eyes streaming tears and spit sloppy down his chin as Hannibal used him, debased him, enjoyed him as his former classmates looked on.

Every polished man had scuffs beneath the surface.

If it was, unusual but not uncommon, a brunch held for society ladies, many interested in Hannibal’s hand and fortune, Will imagined he got a sound fucking. He imagined the wide eyes, the parted lips hidden behind gloves hands and lace fans as Hannibal shoved him against a wall, not even bothering to undress him, just shoving aside his bloomers to work him roughly open.

Bloomers that Will was sure, such ladies had in their own wardrobes at home.

He thought about it, but he never did it. Leaning, instead, against a wall with eyes glazed by his fantasies, a heat pooling slow and steady in his groin, as Hannibal did what a man of his class and standing should do. He would graciously accept compliments on his appearance, answer questions about his work as Hannibal’s ‘assistant’. He would enjoy Hannibal’s wine, of course, in copious amounts.

And he would wait.

Because inevitably the house would clear and they would be alone, the staff busy cleaning up the house and setting away leftovers. Inevitably, Hannibal would seek Will out and wrap a hand in his hair and arch him up for a kiss. Inevitably, he would nuzzle alongside Will’s nose and ask him in a voice warmed by wine and tedium: ‘what has your naughty mind been imagining?’

And Will would tell him.


	28. Omorashi, Humiliation (Will/OMC) - Aptus Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“May I be excused, Sir?”_
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _“For just a moment, I need to -”_
> 
> _“You’re not finished yet.”_
> 
> _Will bit his lip. “I know. I just… I need to go to the bathroom.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kink of mine that is a kink but not really a kink coz I don't do watersports at all but the idea of pee desperation is hot as fuck to me coz it's so controlling and humiliating and urgh. I'm having *confusion* and arousal.

Will squirmed. It was starting to grow uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure how long he could pretend before he was outright desperate.

The man he was servicing was corpulent, the bed he sat on bending under his weight. He’d bought Will before, and had been surprisingly gentle when fucking him or letting Will ride his cock perched atop his massive form. And he wasn’t being cruel now, either, not shoving his cock down Will’s throat, not forcing Will to rim him. But he took a long time to get off, always, and while Will usually had no trouble taking the time and the hefty payment that came with it, right then he had more pressing matters on his mind.

He pulled off, hand still stroking the man to keep him hard and bring him closer, and licked his lips.

“May I be excused, Sir?”

“What?”

“For just a moment, I need to -”

“You’re not finished yet.”

Will bit his lip. “I know. I just… I need to go to the bathroom.”

The man considered him, barely able to see Will over the swell of his stomach. Then he shook his head. “Finish first, then go.”

Will tried to argue, summoned up no more than a click in his throat before deciding against it. He could do it, it was hardly difficult, just time consuming, and he could distract himself enough until he was finished to maybe be a little uncomfortable. Not really the end of the world. And he needed the money.

So he ducked his head back down, resumed his sucking, tongue working slow and deliberate against the head, down over the pulsing thick vein. But his body wasn’t so easy to ignore. Not when he was half-bent, putting pressure on his bladder the way he sat. Not when he _just kept thinking about it._

So with a quiet sound, Will shifted, set a hand to the ground and braced as he knelt up on all fours instead. This was easier, but only for a time. Soon this position, too, was just too hard to hold without squirming. Will’s mind wasn’t on what he was doing, it was between his legs where he really, _really_, needed to relieve himself. He pulled back, panting, spit connecting the tip of the man’s red cock to Will’s bottom lip as he pressed a hand between his legs and looked up imploringly.

“Please, sir, can I just -”

“Not until you’re finished.”

“But I really must -”

“I know.”

Will let out a shaky breath, brows furrowing. Of course. Of course this man would be enjoying his discomfort, they all did. Their mercies extended to allowing Will to come, or allowing him to use lubricant before they fucked him. They couldn’t care less for his human needs; he wasn’t human to them.

Will squirmed, cheeks red with humiliation, and tried to find a way to keep himself together. He just needed to make his client come. He’d done it before. He was good at it. This was just a challenge, just a strange and irksome challenge he had to overcome, nothing more.

But minutes crawled like hours, and Will was whimpering, eyes shut tight as he squeezed his thighs together and pressed the heel of his hand against his cock. His jaw ached, his throat felt raw from how deep he’d taken the man, over and over, in hopes of coaxing him to climax that little bit faster. A hand caught in his hair and Will looked up.

“Spread your legs.”

“No, no I can’t, I -”

“Do it, boy.”

Will shook his head, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t humiliate himself this way, he just couldn’t. But he knew he would have to, he knew he had no choice. As the man continued to hold Will still, hair fisted painfully and arching Will’s back, he slowly set trembling knees apart.

“Wider.”

Will shook his head again, eyes closed now and lip between his teeth. He really, really had to go… he wouldn’t be able to hold it, not with the pressure his entire body was under, not even if -

He set them wider, a sob escaping him as he felt his cock twitch, leaving a wet little smear over his underwear.

“Sir, please -”

“Suck.”

Will did, because he didn’t know what else to do. He sucked hard, pushing the desperation of his need through to his mouth, aching for the man to just come, to just release so that Will could escape and ease this embarrassment.

But he could feel it, could feel the shaking of his thighs, the twitch of his cock, the tickle in his belly just before -

Heat, wet and quick down the insides of his thighs, wetting his bloomers, wetting the old rug on the floor. The relief was immense and immediate, and Will moaned around the cock in his mouth and almost choked when the man came. He took it, managed to swallow, to keep his mouth clean as he sat back and gazed at his tormentor. The client seemed immensely pleased with himself, looking down at the mess Will had made, enjoying the humiliation that was written so clearly over the boy’s delicate features.

“It’s good to be reminded of your place in the world,” he commented, struggling to stand and yank up his pants as Will continued to kneel before him, unmoving. “Filthy little whore that you are.”

He paid Will, at least, dropping the money to the cavernous dent he left in the bed as he passed him and moved out the door.

Will didn’t move for a long time, rubbing furiously at his eyes to keep the frustrated tears at bay. Then he got up, bunching up the ruined rug and throwing his underwear into it. He wiped down what he could and angrily threw the entire mess into one of the large garbage containers in the back room. He washed as quickly as he could with cold water from the sink and a cloth, and found a new pair of pants.

He hoped he wouldn’t see the man again. He didn’t know what he would do if he did.


	29. Sleepy Sex (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will wasn’t sure he’d had the time to fall asleep, but when he came back to himself enough, Hannibal’s hand was between his legs, lazily stroking him. Will grinned, sleepy and warm, and arched his back, drawing up his leg to give Hannibal better access._
> 
> _“Thought you were sleeping,”_
> 
> _“I was.”_

Will occasionally hyperfixated on a project. Once in a while, an engine would confound him, or be of a certain make he had to look up in old manuals and the inactive forums from the dawn of the internet. Then he would spend hours without eating, without moving, just working on putting it back together.

It was meditative, in its own way, it quieted his mind and allowed him to concentrate on something other than other people’s motives and beliefs.

It also meant that when he came back to bed, it was nearly two in the morning, and Hannibal was long since asleep.

Will took a shower, long and hot, to wash away the smell of oil and grime, to get it off his arms, out from under his nails. He would stay in there long enough for the steam to grow thick, and then he’d dry himself off only enough to not leave puddles behind him as he walked back to the bedroom.

Now that the fugue state was dispersed, Will was exhausted. His back ached from how he’d sat bent over, he’d nicked the side of his wrist with something as well, leaving a thin but painful line that stung when it touched anything. He wanted nothing more than to curl up against Hannibal and sleep in when the morning came.

He tucked himself back against him, hoping not to wake him as he did, and settled his head into the pillow with a sigh.

Will wasn’t sure he’d had the time to fall asleep, but when he came back to himself enough, Hannibal’s hand was between his legs, lazily stroking him. Will grinned, sleepy and warm, and arched his back, drawing up his leg to give Hannibal better access.

“Thought you were sleeping,”

“I was.”

Will snorted, the sound morphing into a low and pleased groan as Hannibal continued to work him up, mouth dragging hot wet kisses over his neck and shoulder. It felt so good. And Will was so tired. He felt like he was hanging in a haze of something, half in half out of a dream.

“Turn over,”

Will obliged, a pleased sound as Hannibal allowed him the space to move, arch his back up in a cat stretch before settling obediently on his belly, rocking his hips down into the sheets.

A click of a cap, the gentle and deliberate spreading of his legs by Hannibal’s own, and Will bit down on his hand as fingers penetrated him and worked him gently open. Hannibal could - and had, many times - undo him with his fingers alone, with his lips, with his very words, before his cock got anywhere near Will. But tonight he wasn’t teasing. Tonight, once Will was sufficiently prepared, Hannibal kissed the back of his neck and slowly slid into him.

God, it felt good. It felt so good.

Will turned his head to meet the awkward kiss Hannibal pressed against him, whined and whimpered in pleasure as Hanibal made love to him, lazy and slow. Both were half awake, neither had the energy to tease or play or draw this out and it didn’t matter; that was the beauty of it.

Hannibal slipped his arms around Will, one hand stroking his cock while the other rubbed against a nipple, pinching and tugging it, before drawing his nails down Will’s chest until the other keened, and came.

Hannibal was close behind him, whispering to Will how much he loved him, how he drove him insane, how Hannibal couldn’t keep his hands off him if he tried. They lay together, spent and sleepy, Will seeking out Hannibal’s hand to wrap their fingers together before shifting to lay on his side, then his back, then his side again to kiss Hannibal properly.

“Sorry I’m a mess,” he sighed, nuzzling against Hannibal’s stubbled cheek.

“You’re my mess,” Hannibal assured him, drawing Will closer in a warm embrace, and following him into sleep not moments later.


	30. Gagging, Swallowing, Stockings (Hannigram)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hannibal had taken to Will’s affinity for lingerie with gusto, presenting him with elegant sets of panties and garters and matching stockings, delighting in watching Will put them on and show them off._
> 
> _He liked, just as much, to make a mess of them, Will panting in bed as he came, cock trapped behind lace and silk, wetting the fabric as it seeped through._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I did it, I did kinktober in the month it was supposed to be done in! 30 mini stories and kinky tidbits. I am so proud of myself, thank you for your support throughout!
> 
> I didn't do day 31 because that's a "choose your own kink" one and I am - not gonna lie - kinda tired. So that's it for me this year XD just a month til I do this all over again for Kinksmas!

Hannibal’s fingers caught against the lace, dug in to have Will feel it, to stutter the motion of his hips as he continued to slowly feed Hannibal his cock.

Will sat astride him, balancing himself on the headboard. He spread his legs wide and dropped his head back on a moan as Hannibal sucked him deeper into his mouth, his panties pushed aside rather than removed entirely, caught teasingly just behind his balls and between his ass cheeks.

He didn’t remember whose idea it had been. It didn’t matter. Hannibal had a knack for taking Will apart in every possible way, and this was no exception. He had taken to Will’s affinity for lingerie with gusto, presenting him with elegant sets of panties and garters and matching stockings, delighting in watching Will put them on and show them off.

He liked, just as much, to make a mess of them, Will panting in bed as he came, cock trapped behind lace and silk, wetting the fabric as it seeped through.

Sometimes Will was tied down.

Other times, Hannibal told him to keep still, to hold himself back all on his own as he teased fingertips beneath the waistline of his panties, or the top of his stockings, lips tickling kisses over the sensitive flushed skin.

Will sunk lower, thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself up, and Hannibal gagged quietly, catching against the hollow of Will’s hip to keep him still while he adjusted. Will could barely control himself; so turned on already from an entire day dressed up for Hannibal beneath his oversized flannel shirts, from the striptease he’d given his doctor when Hannibal had opened the door to him and pulled him inside.

From this. Sitting on Hannibal’s face as he choked on his cock.

God.

Will had never felt sexier in his entire life than in that moment.

He pushed himself up, sunk down again, careful to keep Hannibal gagging but not choking, feeling his throat work around the head of Will’s cock in the most torturous teasing. He was going to come, and soon, and he was going to watch Hannibal swallow down everything Will gave him.

The thought alone would be enough to push him over. But then Hannibal’s fingers were seeking over the globe of his ass, squeezing tight and making Will cry out in pleasure. They probed, dry and deliberate, against the scrunched fabric of his panties, rubbed teasingly over his hole, and Will whimpered, thighs tensing, toes curling, and came, hard, into Hannibal’s mouth.

As he lowered himself to sit on Hannibal’s chest instead, his hips were caught and Will was guided to lie back instead, grinning as Hannibal crawled over him and kissed the taste of Will’s release into his mouth.

It felt dirty and wonderful and hot, and Will wrapped his stockinged legs around Hannibal’s form and pulled him closer, arching up to feel his cock hard against Will’s hip.

“Should take care of that,” he murmured, grinning when Hannibal’s purr pleasure vibrated to Will’s very bones. “Been aching to suck you off all day.”

“No,” Hannibal told him, kissing his cheek, setting his teeth gently to Will’s earlobe to tug and pull shivers through his form. “No, I want that mouth free to beg me. I’ve got all the time in the world to make you come again, with my cock buried so deep in your ass you’re sobbing for it.”

And fuck, how could Will say no to that??

**Author's Note:**

> Have some kinky ideas for me? Send me [an ask on tumblr](https://suntosirius.tumblr.com/ask), if it's more fun/creepy/wonderful than the prompt on the list that day I really will write it for you :3


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